


Friends and Commitments

by Greyleaf



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 09:26:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greyleaf/pseuds/Greyleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two friends drive from New York to Albuquerque to attend a wedding with a side trip to a cemetery. Hilarity does *not* ensue (but, there is humor). References to Viet Nam, PTSD and the Chicano Movement. Please see Author’s notes. Rated T for language and descriptions of violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sarah and Jesús (Chuy) are original characters from my Person of Interest fanfics. Please let me know what you think. There are references to the Chicano Movement, the Viet Nam War and PTSD, all of which I had to research so I hope I haven’t committed any egregious errors. I certainly mean no offense. And, to the Veterans of all wars and ‘military actions’, especially Viet Nam, I want to say thanks for your service and Welcome Home.

          Sarah sat straight up in bed, gasping, the echo of a scream sounding in her head. Her pulse pounding in her ears, she closed her eyes and forced herself to take deep breaths, willing her heartbeat to slow. After a few minutes, she looked at the clock display glowing in the dark. Four a.m.

          She was alone, Harold having left an hour or so earlier; she remembered sleepily looking at the time when he woke her with his usual goodbye kiss.

          At least he’d missed another one of her nightmares.

          Lying back down, she pulled his pillow to her, clutching it against her chest, the fabric cool on her bare skin. While this wasn’t anywhere near as good as being held by him while the panic subsided, but she’d found the lingering scent of him helped to calm her.

          Eventually, she drifted into a light sleep, only to be startled awake by the clock alarm. After a moment her scattered thoughts assembled into coherency and, sighing, she rolled out of bed. Picking her clothes up from the floor where they had been discarded the night before, she dropped them in the basket just inside the closet door and headed down the hall to the bathroom.

          The hot shower went a long way toward dispelling the memory of the dream; she was almost herself again as she finished up her toilette and combed her wet hair. She was mentally checking off the things she’d done in preparation for the week or so she’d be gone, making sure she hadn’t missed anything, when her attention came back to her reflection. She set the comb down and rose up on her toes to lean toward the mirror, turning her head to get a better view. She kept thinking she could see a faint shadow high on her cheek, the remnants of the purple and red bruise that had stood out angrily against her pale skin: the result of the assault of some five weeks ago. She touched the spot gingerly, but there was no pain; hadn’t been for a while. The shadow was probably more imagined than real, anyway, she thought, settling back down on her heels. Her reflection gazed back at her from the lightly fogged mirror, her grey eyes squinting, when she remembered.

          The dry cleaning.

          “Shit,” she muttered, striding down the hall to the bedroom. She took the phone from its docking station on the nightstand and scrolled to the cleaner’s number. As it went to voicemail, she cleared her throat, waiting for the beep.

          “Hi, this is Sarah Johnson with Discrete Transportation. Listen, I’m sorry I forgot to pick up my uniform last week. I’ve been…,” she stopped. Been what? Avoiding people? Re-thinking her career? “I’ve been a little distracted.” She mentally kicked herself. Keep it professional, idiot. “Anyway, I’ll be out of town for about a week and I’d appreciate it if you could hold it for me ‘til I get back. Thanks.”

          She set the phone down and got dressed, pulling on jeans and a t-shirt, a light flannel shirt over that. Good pair of walking shoes. Watch. Looking at it, she realized she had time for some breakfast before she needed to be downstairs to meet Chuy.

          She stood over the kitchen sink and ate the leftovers from her dinner from the Irish pub the night before, washing it down with warmed up coffee from the previous morning. Grimacing at the taste, she made a mental apology to her stomach.

          Cup rinsed and in the strainer, she went to the living room. Standing next to the small pile of luggage she’d set in front of her wall of video and stereo equipment she checked her daypack cum purse for antacids, just in case. That done, she stood looking at, but not seeing, the bags, her mind drifting. Her watch suddenly beeped at her, making her jump. She silenced it with a curse. Looking up from her wrist, her eyes fell on the framed photo sitting on top of the subwoofer.         For a moment, she looked at the picture, her mind blank. Then a thought pushed its way forward.

          God, was I ever _really_ that young? She sure as hell never felt as young as she appeared in that photo. But, there it was. Proof from twenty-nine years ago.

          She ran a hand through her grey-streaked brown hair, looking at her younger self. Younger Self grinned back, wrapped in the arms of an older man, who was also grinning. Nick. He was only thirty at the time, eight years her senior, but, even goofing for the camera, he appeared worn, as if he’d been beaten from the inside – a haunted, hunted look that was always in the lines around his blue eyes.

          Sarah bent over and picked up the photo. She’d been back and forth about bringing it, finally deciding, while packing the day before, to leave it behind. Now, she waffled again. She stood there, still unsure, when her phone rang. Her hand jerked up, dropping the photo and it hit the thin rug, corner-on, with a small cracking sound. Swearing, she grabbed the phone from where she’d set it on top of the largest bag.

          “Hello?”

          “Amiga. You ready? I’m here.”

          “Chuy. Sorry.” She took a quick look around. “Yeah. I’ll be right down.”

          She slipped the phone in the breast pocket of her flannel shirt and picked up the photo. Frowning at the crack in the frame she put it back on the speaker. She stacked the two smaller bags on top of the larger wheeled one, put the daypack over one shoulder, turned off all but the living room light and headed out.

          Three floors down, she came out of the apartment building’s side door, pulling the precariously stacked wheeled bags behind her. After she rounded the building’s corner, she stopped to rebalance the load then took a moment to enjoy the relative quiet and freshness of an early Sunday morning in New York.

          Traffic was still light, for The City, the noise level a low hum. The rising sun found a gap in the surrounding high-rises, illuminating that side of the building and the sign proclaiming the ground floor business to be Jesús Ortega’s Body and Machine Shop. Below the sign, one of that business’s three metal doors was rolled up. Standing there was said Jesús, deep in conversation with a younger man.

                    At this distance, Sarah was able to discern the differences between father and son, as well as the similarities. At fifty-eight, Chuy was twenty-eight years older than Carlos, his youngest son. They were both lean, wearing jeans and t-shirts, though Chuy, like Sarah, wore a shirt over his, unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to the elbow. It was obvious they were related; in profile the both of them brought to mind those ancient carvings from Mexico or Central America. But where Carlos’ dark hair was a curly cloud, his father’s was straight, silver streaked and pulled back in a pony tail that trailed between his shoulder blades. The son’s young frame was wiry, the father’s mature physique somewhat more muscular. Sarah started toward them thinking that, even though Carlos had a couple of inches height on his father, Chuy’s quiet self confidence made him seem the taller.

          Approaching the two men, her bags teetered, threatening to loose the one on top. She made a grab for it. Her sudden movement must have caught their attention because Carlos suddenly appeared, placing a steadying hand on the stack. Crises averted, he smiled at her as he gripped the handle.

          “’Morning Sarah,” he said, his light tenor nothing like his father’s gravelly bass. “Ready for your trip?”

          “Thanks, Carlos,” she said, relinquishing her grip. “Yes. More than ready. It’s been awhile since I hit the road.”

          Carlos’ smile broadened as he wheeled the luggage toward where his father was standing. “I thought you hit the road every week,” he teased.

          She returned his smile, her hand on the bags to steady them as they walked. “That’s for _work_ ,” she replied, “And I like being a limo driver, but it can’t compare to a road trip.” She turned to Chuy as she and the younger man stopped next to him.

          “Good morning, amiga.” He looked at her expectantly. “You want to check out our ride?” he asked, jerking a thumb at the car in the bay behind him.

          Her eyes followed his gesture and then snapped back to her friend.

          “Seriously?” she asked, not sure she could believe her luck.

           “Seriously,” he replied, one corner of his mouth quirked in amusement. “Go ahead.”

          Sarah,  digging her glasses out of the front pouch of her pack, moved past the older man, her attention now fully on the car.

          Sarah knew some people would have called it an old station wagon, but those people would be soulless cretins. It was a ’57 two door Chevy Nomad. The roof, hood and sides were a dark cream, the back and bisecting line a rich burgundy. As she rounded the rear of the car, she thought she recognized it and turned to address Chuy.

          “This can’t be that junker you picked up last year?” she asked.

          “It is.” Chuy’s voice rightfully held some pride.

          She shook her head in amazement and resumed her tour, poking her head in the open driver’s side window to get a better view of the interior. The upholstery had the same colors as the exterior, burgundy on cream, rolled edges and everything double stitched. The dashboard looked original to her eye, but she suspected she’d find the stereo had been updated.

          She straightened up and regarded the two men over the long, ribbed top of the car. They were standing side by side, looking at her. Waiting.

          “Chuy. It’s beautiful,” she said to the older man, drawing a warm, pleased smile from him.

          “So, it’ll do?” he asked as he walked over to stand on the opposite side, his son following.

          “It’s perfect,” she replied. She looked at the younger man. “Is this your upholstery work, Carlos?” His smile was a mirror image of his father’s. “You’ve done some truly beautiful work. Almost a shame to sit on it.”

          “It’ll hold up,” he said, still smiling. “Just be a little careful.”

          “Oh, definitely. Your father will make sure of that.”

          “Damn straight, I will,” the older man said. Sarah and Carlos traded grins.

          Chuy opened the back of the wagon and Carlos loaded Sarah’s luggage in next to Chuy’s. There were also a couple of gift wrapped packages.

          “Wedding gifts?” Sarah asked Chuy.

          “Yeah. Maria said as long as we were driving, we could take them. Saves either shipping them or paying for the extra luggage.”

          “Makes sense. So, she’s flying out, what, Thursday?”

          “Yep.”

          Sarah turned to Carlos, who had just closed up the back of the car. “Gabrielle, too?” Sarah asked, referring to Carlos’ wife. He nodded. “And my little Flower Bud? She knows I’ll be there, right?” Sarah moved around to join the two men on the other side of the car.

          Carlos smiled at Sarah’s nickname for his youngest daughter, Rosa. “Yes,” he said, carefully leaning against the car. “She can’t wait for her Tia Blanca to see her in her dress for the wedding.” Carlos’ eyes fairly twinkled. “She’s going to be one of the flower girls, you know.”

          Sarah laughed. “How could I _not_ know? It’s all she’s talked about for the past several weeks!” She sobered a little, mindful of Chuy’s presence. “She’s okay with flying?’

          Carlos nodded. “She’s very excited. Though, she’s wondering why her Grandpa isn’t flying with them.” He glanced at Chuy who had moved to the other side of the car, finding something to check with the window.

          Sarah raised an eyebrow. How does one, she wondered, explain to a six year old that her big, brave, strong grandfather refused to fly, without explaining about plane crashes and scaring her?

          “So,” she asked, knowing Chuy wouldn’t, “what did you tell her?”

          Carlos shifted to look at his father over the top of the car. “Oh, we told her that you and he were going to drive a car out so that her Grandma and Grandpa could spend some time together on the way back.” Carlos turned to Sarah. “To celebrate their anniversary.”

          Sarah blinked at him in surprise.

          “He didn’t tell you, did he.” Carlos said, her reaction apparently confirming his suspicions. “Yep. Forty years.” The younger man gazed at his father with affection and pride. Chuy, clearly uncomfortable with being the center of attention, found an excuse to step into his office and started rummaging around in his desk. Sarah watched him with amusement as Carlos continued, “He didn’t want a fuss made. So, no party.” Sarah turned back to him. “But, this is even better. He and Mom can spend time traveling back, just by themselves. No kids. No work.” Carlos smiled mischievously. “A second honeymoon. And,” he patted the car. “This is Mom’s gift. She hasn’t seen it yet.”

          Again, Sarah was surprised and a little uncomfortable. She wasn’t sure how she felt about riding in Maria’s car first, so she changed the subject.

          “I want to thank you for watching the apartment for me while I’m gone. And the limos,” she said, nodding her head to the other end of the ground floor space that her business shared with the Body Shop. Carlos glanced in the direction of her nod. The office and two grey limos that comprised her company could just be discerned in the unlit end of the space.

          “No problem,” he said, turning back to her. “I’ll be here, off and on, anyway, to keep an eye on the shop for Dad. When was the last time you turned the engines over?”

          Sarah ducked her head, slightly embarrassed. “It’s been several days,” she admitted. “Ten, actually.” As she turned back she tried to think of an excuse to cover for her neglect. But the look of concern on Carlos’ face brought a sudden flare of irritation, almost anger, and she had to bite back the searing comment that nearly sparked off her tongue. The force and suddenness of her feelings was irrational and she looked away, taking a deep breath.

          Carlos’ tone was amiable, as if he hadn’t noticed the emotional struggle that had taken place just inches in front of him. “I’ll run them both before I leave today.” She turned back to him as he continued. “And again every couple of days. I’ll have one of my guys to detail them for you, too, while you’re gone.” He smiled a little. “So they’ll be looking sharp when you’re ready to get back to work.”

          Sarah forced a smile as she faced him again and refrained from voicing her dark thought. That, after five weeks of referring her customers to another limo company, she may not have much of a business left. The bruise on her face had faded enough a couple of weeks ago and her doctor said there was no reason for her not to go back to work.

          She just couldn’t seem to bring herself to do so.  

Chuy came out of his office with what appeared to be two pieces of colorful plastic in his hand.

          “What are those, amigo?” Sarah asked, glad of the chance to focus on something else.

          “Music. This,” he held up a green and purple thumb drive, “has tunes that ‘Lita and Rudy put together,” he said, naming Carlos’ two older children. “This one,” he held up a black one that had the image of a blood red skull on it, “is from Jason.” One of Chuy’s younger employees who favored all things Goth. From the tone of Chuy’s voice, Sarah expected him to hold the drive as if it was road kill.

          “Really?” Sarah responded, delighted, as she reached for it.

          He handed her the drive. “You know what’s on it?”

          “Well, no, but back when we first started making plans for the trip, he and I talked about what type of music would be good to have on the road.” She examined the bloody image. “Did he paint this?” Chuy grunted assent. “Nice work.” She adjusted her glasses on her nose and peered more closely at the skull. “Is that a worm in the eye socket?”

Chuy’s response was a sound of disgust and something muttered under his breath. Louder, he commented, “I can only imagine what he’s got on that thing.”

“Well,” Sarah said brightly, “we will find out shortly,” and dropped the drive in her pocket with the phone.

Shaking his head, Chuy turned to Carlos. “Time to get going.”

Father and son exchanged a few last words and a hug while Sarah eased into the passenger side, daypack on the floor under her legs. As she fastened the seat belt, she felt an excitement she hadn’t felt in years, making the events of the past month or so fade, for now, to the background. Road trips had always meant freedom to her and it had been too long since the last one.

Chuy got in behind the wheel. They’d agreed he’d drive the start of the journey, Sarah saying that, because she drove the streets of the Five Burroughs for a living, she had no compulsion to dive them for leisure. He fastened the seatbelt, double checked the mirrors. Then he turned slightly to look at her

“So, you ready?”

“Yup.”

“Everything packed?’

“Yup.”

“Everyone’s been given your itinerary?” A ritual they both adhered to religiously since 9/11.

“Yep.”

“You sure?” he asked.

Sarah raised her eyebrows at him. “I phoned Mike,” she replied, referring to her brother who lived in Chicago. “I’ve emailed Frank, the guy I’m going to meet up with.” She frowned, thinking. “Who else needs to know?”

“How about the new guy you’ve been seeing?”

Sarah was surprised. She was sure she hadn’t said or done anything that would have let any one know about Harold’s part in her life. Carefully, she said, “Okay. One: Yes, I’ve told him and we’ll stay in touch by email. Two: How the _hell_ did you know?”

Chuy seemed pleased with himself. “I think I know you well enough, comadre, to tell when you’re involved with someone. You try to hide it, but I’ve seen your face light up when you get certain emails or calls. And, I think you’d been calmer.” Sarah caught the use of past tense. “Serene, even.”

Sarah was astonished, her mouth agape. What closed it for her was the smug look on Chuy’s face.

And that would not do.

“Wow. All that,” she said in mock amazement, “and all I had to do was get laid.”

Chuy winced. “I didn’t say that.”

Laughing, Sarah put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Chuy. No, you would never be so crude. I just couldn’t resist.”

Looking at her, he smiled a little at her mirth. “I’m right, though.”

“Yes,” she said, still smiling.

“Good.” He paused. “Are we going to meet him?” We meant him and Maria.

Sarah shook her head. “I don’t think so, amigo. He’s a very private person.”

Chuy regarded her thoughtfully, then nodded. Turning back to the steering wheel, he paused before starting the car.

“Ready?”

Sarah nodded enthusiastically. “¡ _Dale gas_!” she said. “Let’s go!”

Chuy, shaking his head at her use of _Caló,_ started the car and they both listened for a moment, appreciating the low rumble of the V8 engine.

Then, Sarah remembered. Putting a hand on his arm, she said, “Wait,” retrieving the drive from her shirt pocket. Holding it up, she said, “We can’t start off without tunes.”

“Oy.”

Sarah smiled at his trepidation. “I think you’ll be surprised. Now, where does this thing go?”

          Chuy, somewhat reluctantly, opened the glove compartment and mutely pointed a finger. Sarah, adjusting her glasses, leaned forward and inserted the drive. She sat upright again, listening. When the first notes of the first song came over the speakers, her smile widened to a grin and she turned to her friend.

“See?” she said to his amazed look. “I told Jason we needed road music. And he delivered.”

Chuy turned back to the wheel and put the car in gear. “I may have misjudged that boy.”

The Chevy moved forward, and, after a brief pause, rolled out of the garage, Sarah waiving at Carlos, who stood ready to roll the metal door back down. She settled back into the seat as the car eased into the early Sunday morning traffic, strains of Willie Nelson’s “On the Road Again” coming from the speakers.

 

 

Sarah bent over the map that lay open on her lap, studying their route. Chuy’s cell phone was mounted on a stand on the open glove compartment door, the GPS screen displaying their current location. She ignored it. While she used GPS for her work, she preferred good old-fashioned maps. Sarah knew Chuy found this amusing, and had, in the past, kidded her. But he’d been quiet while they worked their way through the heaviest of the traffic, leaving her to indulge herself map-wise. She was quite immersed when he cleared his throat to get her attention. 

“This guy, Frank, is it? The one your therapist put you in touch with. You said it turns out you know him?”

Sarah raised her head and removed her glasses to look at her friend. She turned the stereo down, Tom Petty’s voice fading to barely audible. Settling back, she replied, “Well, when I spoke to Carol, I told her I still wanted to go on this trip to Albuquerque since we’d been planning it for some time. But, I told her that now I needed to make the side trip to the cemetery. She gave me the names of several people in the area who worked with people who have -- similar problems.” Sarah ignored Chuy’s glance at her. “I recognized his name.”

“So you two were friends.”

“Yeah. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he works as a councilor. I’m just surprised he’s still in ‘Burque.” She shifted in her seat, absently playing with her glasses and gazed out at the traffic. There was silence between them for the space of several miles. Sarah recognized her friend was trying to get her to talk and that he was willing to listen. His dealings with Vets and his own military service made him aware of the effects of trauma. Moreover, Chuy was a good friend. He and Maria had folded her into their extended family and she valued them as much as she did her own brother and his family. However, she found herself reluctant to talk about her current problem.

Which, of course, was also a problem.

Sarah took a deep breath and turned to look at Chuy. “Frank was the clown of our group,” she offered, then smiled, remembering. “Always finding the humor in any situation.”

Eyes still on the road, Chuy smiled. “Sounds a little like you.”

Sarah nodded. “Yeah. We were also the two youngest in our squad.”

“‘Squad’, huh,” he said, picking up on the military reference. “So, how many in your ‘squad’?”

“Six. Frank, Richard, Manny, James, me.” She paused. “And Nick.”

“You and Frank were the youngest?” Chuy asked, forestalling an awkward silence. “You two ever a couple?”

Sarah’s eyebrows rose, surprised by the question. “No,” she said after a moment. “Though it would have made sense had we been. We were the only ‘civilians’ in the group as well so he and I had the most in common.” She was quiet for a moment, reflecting. “Frank was a good friend of Manny’s. They both had family out on the Rez. I think that Manny’s nephew married Frank’s cousin.”

“Oh, well, that makes Frank and Manny family, then.” Chuy’s smile was self-incriminating.

“That’s right,” Sarah laughed, acknowledging the penchant for some groups to find familial connections, no matter how remote. “And I was included because of Nick.” She hardly paused when she said his name this time.

“Ah.” Chuy seemed to digest this for a minute, while he focused on the driving. Even though it was still early Sunday morning, the traffic was heavier than she expected. No doubt because of the nice weather.  Having negotiated some of the merging traffic, he glanced at her. “The guys who were ex-military, they all serve together?”

“Richard, Manny and James, I think, were all in the same outfit – they all had the same stories.” Another pause. “Nick knew them from the local VA where they all went for help with their benefits. And counseling.”

“So, Nick did get some counseling,” Chuy said cautiously.

Sarah blinked. “Yeah. Some.” She shifted on the seat again and looked out the passenger window at something or sometime distant.

After a moment, Chuy broke into her reverie. “So, where are we stopping tonight?” his gravelly voice light and conversational.

Sarah sighed and, turning, gave him a vague smile, thankful to change the subject.

They talked awhile, discussing the place they were staying overnight, and, more immediately, where they might want to stop for lunch. Sarah didn’t cook, but she loved to eat. Trying new restaurants and cuisines was something of a hobby for her. So when Chuy suggested they have an early lunch at a sushi place he knew near Princeton, she agreed, her interest piqued.

“How many times have you been to this place?” she asked sometime later. The exit they had taken put them in an area of tree lined streets and older brick buildings. “Seems like a long way to go for sushi,” she quipped, looking around.

“Just once. I delivered a restored Corvette to a customer near here. He recommended it.” They turned down a side street and into a parking lot, pulling into a space close to the door. The exterior was unremarkable, a simple sign the only indication that it was a restaurant.

The petite woman in a perfectly tailored black suit who greeted them recognized Chuy. She asked if he was delivering another car, where he was headed. Chuy, calling the woman Anna, explained the purpose of the trip and introduced Sarah “A good friend”. Anna welcomed her and then led them both to a table in the still sparsely populated dinning room. The décor was simple and tasteful, the menus in Japanese and English, the sake list extensive.

Anna hovered, making suggestions as to what the best selections were that day. She took Chuy’s sake order and headed to the bar.

Sarah looked at Chuy over the top of the menu, one eyebrow quirked. He returned her look as he opened the package of chopsticks and laid them on the little bowl.

“What?”

She pursed her lips a little. “Didn’t you say you’d been here only once before?”

“Yeah. Why?’

Softly, she said, “Well, you must’ve dropped a wad of cash. Anna’s the owner, right?”

Chuy shrugged. The sake arrived, a small carafe and two glasses, and he poured some of the milky liquid into the glasses. “I’d made a good profit on the car I’d delivered,” he said, lifting his glass. “I was celebrating.”

  Sarah lifted her glass in turn and they clinked them together. “Salud,” they both said and downed their drinks. Chuy mutely asked if she wanted more, eyebrows and bottle raised questioningly.

Sarah gave a brief shake of her head. “You go ahead,” she said. “I’ll drive.”

He smiled his thanks and filled his glass. When the server appeared they ordered what Anna had advised. While they waited for their meal, they talked and joked. The restaurant started to fill up a little and Sarah watched the other diners with interest. The food arrived and she was impressed with both the presentation and the quality. “I see why you wanted to come back here, amigo,” she said sometime later, spearing the last of her nigiri with a fork and dabbing it with a judicious smear of wasabi. “This is _amazing_.”

Chuy, deftly maneuvering his sashimi with his sticks, nodded. “I knew you’d like it,” he said and popped his fish into his mouth.

Sarah smiled and picked up her tea. “Well worth going a few extra miles out of our way. And the price,” she said as she watched her friend polish off his sashimi and sake.

Their meal finished, Chuy tried to pay the whole bill. Sarah reminded him of the deal they’d made months ago, to split the costs of the trip – meals, gas, motels – at which he relented. They said their goodbyes to Anna and headed for the car.

“Keys, please,” Sarah said standing next to the passenger door, hand out.

As he fished them out of his pocket, Sarah’s phone rang and she pulled it out. The Drycleaners. While Chuy let himself into the passenger side and rolled down the window, Sarah answered, leaning against the car.

“Discrete Transportation, Sarah speaking.”

“Sarah,” a mature woman’s voice, roughened by years of smoking, boomed out of the little speaker. “This is Beth.”

Sarah held the phone a little way from her ear. “Beth. I didn’t expect a call. Aren’t you closed today?”

“Yes, but I come in to check the voicemails. I just wanted you to know you don’t have to worry about your uniform. It cleaned up nicely and we took care of that little hole in the knee. You’d never know what happened.” Beth’s voice wheezed a little as she took a breath. “We’ll keep it here and you let us know when you’re back.”

“Thanks, Beth. I can’t believe I forgot to pick it up.”

“Well, hon, it’s not surprising,” Beth wheezed. “With what that schmuck did to you, you’re still recovering, no doubt. How are you doing? Feeling better, I guess, since you’re taking a trip.”

Normally, Sarah didn’t mind Beth’s habit of answering her own questions – it saved Sarah the trouble. But she didn’t like what this meant, since she hadn’t spoken to Beth about the assault.

“Thanks, Beth. Yes, I’m doing better. Tell me, though, who told you what happened?”

“Oh, hon, it was all over the news.”

Sarah closed her eyes. “Were there pictures?” her voice flat with dread.

“No, no. But the paper said what happened, that your client, that goniff, got attacked by that schmuck. And how the schmuck hit you and how you got him back with an electric cattle prod. Did you really hit him in the balls? You must have, that would have been the best way to stop him. A cattle prod!” Beth paused to cough. “Hon, when you get back, you’ll _have_ to tell me where to get one. The ladies in my club all think it’s a great idea. Don’t worry about your uniform. Have a good trip. Bye.”

 “Bye,” Sarah said faintly, hanging up. She stood quietly for a minute.

“Chuy?”

“Sarah. You okay?”

She looked down at her friend who was peering up at her from the car. “Was it really all over the news?” She didn’t have to tell him what she meant.

“Well, yeah.”

“Wonderful.”

“It pretty much died down after a couple of days,” he offered. “Mostly.”

Sarah straightened up, turning to look at him. “‘Mostly’?”

“Well, it came back up when your client got indicted for fraud.”

Sarah hung her head, her hair just long enough to hide her face. “And the ‘prod?” she asked, her voice muffled.

“Yeah. They talked about that, too,” he said. “Got quite a bit of coverage.”

“Truly wonderful,” she sighed. Lifting her head, she ran a hand through her hair. “Not the way I wanted my clients to see me.”

Chuy shrugged. “Maybe it’ll work out. Maybe you won’t get so many pervs trying to grope you.” He handed the keys up to her.

Taking them, Sarah considered his words. “Could be,” she agreed. She walked around to the driver’s side and got in. “Or, I’ll get the ones who would _like_ to be prodded.”

“Well, then, you could charge extra.” Chuy said, deadpan.

Surprised, she laughed. “Ah, amigo, you’re good for my soul.” She inserted the key and paused. “Ready?”

Chuy’s brown eyes twinkled at her. “¡ _Dale gas_!”

 

 

They hit rain in West Virginia; light, but steady, and the sound of the wipers kept a soothing rhythm, like a calm heartbeat. Sarah glanced at Chuy from time to time. He was propped at a slight angle against both the frame of the passenger door and the back of the bench seat. His head was bent over his tablet, glasses perched on the end of his nose. With his pony tailed hair and his sleeves neatly rolled up to his elbows, he looked scholarly and comfortable and completely at ease, as if he was at home. But, then, he always seemed calm and unflappable.

That’s probably why she took so much delight in getting a rise out of him. Looking out at the wet road, she grinned at the thought. From the corner of her eye, she saw him glance up briefly from his e-book.

“What’s so funny, amiga?” he asked, looking down as he turned the page.

She shook her head, still grinning. “Just happy thoughts,” she said, glancing at him.

He looked at her over the top of his glasses, smiling a little, effected by her good mood.

“How’s the book?” she asked.

“Good.”

There was a cozy silence for a few more miles.

“What’s it about?”

“Money, sex, betrayal.”

“Ah,” she said. “Politics. Sounds delightful.”

Chuy smirked, but didn’t look up. “The Fall of Toledo.”

“Oh.”

She mulled this over for a while, her thoughts going from what she knew about that war to wars in general to what it must be like to actually be fighting in a war. Then –

 “Chuy, why’d you join the service?” She risked a glance at him. He looked up at her, no doubt surprised at this apparent non sequitur, but answered readily enough.

“I wanted the discipline.” She could tell he was regarding her in silence for a moment. “I was something of a punk. I figured I needed to straighten up.” His tone was amiable. “Plus, I could get more training.”

“As a mechanic.”

“Yeah.”

“So, you met Maria while in the service?” she asked as she applied the brakes. The rain and the traffic had gotten a little heavier.

Chuy, apparently realizing he wasn’t going to get to read any more, set his tablet aside on the seat and took off his glasses.

“Before.” He settled back, looking at her. “She told me she couldn’t be interested in some _matón_ , a bully.”

Sarah said, “So, _love_ drove you into the military.”

Her comment was met with silence. Glancing over, she saw Chuy was looking down, seemingly studying the glasses in his hands. She frowned.

“Chuy?”

She turned back to the road. After another moment of silence, she said, “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“No,” he said. He looked back up at her. “It’s okay.”

Sarah mentally kicked herself. She’d obviously made light of something that was important to her friend.

His gravelly voice was soft. “As I said, I was a punk. I – was –” he stopped. Then he said, “You know I joined the Chicano movement. Brown pride, civil rights.” His tone was self mocking.

“Not the reason you joined?” Sarah paused. “Don’t tell me it was to meet women,” she said, dryly.

He snorted. “That would have been a better reason. No. It was a chance for justifiable mayhem. Trouble-making under the guise of a cause. Not that I thought of it that way,” he said. “I didn’t really think much at all.”

Sarah smirked. “Typical, at that age.”

Chuy shrugged. “There’d already been some fighting. Run-ins with the cops.”

Sarah was quiet. In the years she’d known him, his family, she’d never heard this. She wondered, briefly, if his kids knew.

“I was full of myself. Felt I was owed something, I guess. I wanted to belong to something, but only to show others how big a man I was.”

From the corner of her eye, Sarah saw him gaze out at the road, but she doubted he was seeing it.

“I got into some trouble. A fight.” He absently rubbed his left arm, the sleeve coming up a little to reveal the bottom edge of the scar she’d glimpsed a few times in the past. She’d always wondered how he’d gotten it.

Now she knew.

She watched the road, aware of his stillness. The rain had eased, so she turned off the wipers. The stereo, which had been turned low, could now just be heard above the engine and the faint hiss of the tires on the wet asphalt. The Indigo Girls were singing about maps.

“Knives?” she asked.

Chuy, brought out of his reverie, looked at her then down at his arm. He smiled ruefully.

“Yeah.”

“What caused the fight? A woman?” she asked, thinking of Maria.

His lips pursed, as if he tasted something bad.

“No. An insult.”

Sarah blinked. “I’m surprised,” she said. “In all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you loose your temper.” She paused. “Must have been some insult.”

“Not really. I had a short fuse then. Almost anything could set me off. As I said, I was looking for trouble. So, of course, I found it.” There was another stretch of silence. Then, “I won the fight.”

There was no pride in that quiet statement; if anything, there was regret. Sarah felt a twinge in her gut, wondering what ‘won’ meant. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Chuy shook himself, saying, “I realized that Maria was right. My involvement in the Chicano movement wasn’t what I needed.”

They were both quiet for some time. The traffic was moving pretty well at this point; mostly tractor-trailers and cars, a few campers and motor homes. The sun had come out and reflected off the wet road, so Sarah put on her sunglasses and slowed down, keeping to the right lane.

Then Chuy said, “Of course, it would have been better if I’d joined some other branch of the service,” he said, deadpan. “You know, instead of the Air Force.” 

 

 

 

That night, they stayed in a little town in Ohio, at a little motel next to a little coffee shop. The rooms were okay. The food was edible. Chuy confessed, over a dinner of hamburgers, fries and a salad (“Of _course_ it’s a salad, amigo – look, it has a tomato.”) he had an ulterior motive for the sushi lunch.

“I knew it would be the last chance I’d have for good seafood for two weeks,” he said, picking the tomato out of his salad and popping it into his mouth.

Sarah grinned as she picked up her burger and took a bite. She knew that there were two things that had concerned him about this trip – the quality of the food and the cleanliness of the rooms.

In that order.

Sarah shared his concerns, but her opinion of what qualified as good food was broader than his.

“Chuy, you are a culinary snob.” She took another bite. “Were you this picky when you were in the service?”

He grinned as he ate some fries. “Nah. What did I know at eighteen? It was Maria and her cooking that did it.”

Sarah nodded. “She _is_ an excellent cook,” she said, noshing on her own fries. “Her molés should win prizes.”

They finished their dinner, discussing other meals they’d had, Sarah waxing poetic about Maria’s cooking. As they lingered over their cups of decaf and slices of pie, by far the best thing about their meal, Sarah felt moved to expand on her admiration of Maria.

“Not only is she a great cook,” Sarah gestured with her fork for emphasis, “she handles the bookkeeping for your shop. And, she welcomed this _gringa_ ,” she pointed her thumb at herself, “into your family.”

Chuy raised an eyebrow. “You make it sound as if that was an act of charity.” He took a sip of his coffee.

“Well, maybe not charity, but you and I were only business acquaintances at the time,” she reminded him. “I’d just started the limo company, renting that space from you. I’d met her, what, once or twice? She had you bring me some meals, knowing I was pinching pennies. Then she invited me to that family picnic you guys do every year.” Sarah wasn’t sure why she was feeling so animated about this. She would have blamed the alcohol, except she hadn’t had any, save for that little bit at lunch.

Chuy was looking at her, speculatively. “Amiga, she _liked_ you. We both did. You think I would have offered you that space if I hadn’t?” He lifted his cup again. “And at such a good price?” He smiled around his cup as he took a sip.

“Well,” she said, trying to rein in her emotions, “I still say it was generous. Of both of you.” Her voice sounded a little ragged to her and she mentally cursed. Her moods had been so volatile lately. Her hope that her friend hadn’t noticed was extinguished by his assessing look. He didn’t actually nod to himself, but he may as well have done.

“I’m ready to call it a night,” he said. “You?”

They settled the bill and walked through the little stand of trees separating the coffee shop from the motel. They stood in front of the doors to their adjoining rooms, agreed to a time to meet back at the restaurant for breakfast. Chuy said he would probably get up early to go for his morning run, having already scoped out a safe route. Sarah made a wise crack about not getting up early, needing her beauty sleep. Laughing, they went into their respective rooms.

Sarah stood next to the bed in the bland little room, listening to the fast beating of her heart. She thought she’d been doing fine ‘til she went on that tangent about Maria’s kindness. The fact was, though, the only time she seemed to be safe from the emotional roller coaster was when she was making wise assed comments.

Fortunately, she was good at that.

But, now, alone, she feared she might be overcome. Slowly, she sat down on the bed. Deep breath. Hold. Slowly let it out. She waited, focusing on the little sounds in the room. The hum of the little refrigerator. The creak of the bed springs when she shifted. She heard the fan in the bathroom next door come on – Chuy.

After a few minutes, her routine seemed to have worked again.  Her heartbeat having slowed and there being no flood of emotions, she relaxed.

So far, so good, she thought. Hopefully, I’ll actually sleep through the night.

As it was, the one dream that woke her was just one of vague unease. No panic. No cold sweat.

No full color images of carnage.

No screams.

All in all, a good night, she thought as she stepped into the pre-dawn cool. Maybe this trip, this taking action, was doing some good. She squelched the little voice of doubt that tried to say otherwise and retraced the path back through the trees to the coffee shop.

The smell of fresh brewed coffee greeted her, a ‘welcome’ she always found pleasing. Other early risers sat at the counter, some in the booths. Sarah chose a booth, letting the server know that there would be two and coffee, please. She had heard the sound of running water coming from Chuy’s room as she’d dressed; she knew he’d be along soon. She met the eye of another diner across the aisle, a dark-skinned man who she guessed to be in his fifties, with short grizzled hair, his clothes and heavy boots telling her he worked in construction. They nodded at each other and exchanged “’Mornin’s’” before she turned to her opened menu.

Chuy and the coffee arrived at the same time, Chuy surprising the server. Sarah hid her grin as the two maneuvered around each other with smiles and apologies and Chuy slipped into the seat across from her. Sarah had seen this before and, if she wasn’t mistaken, the server, a red haired woman in her forties, would be paying extra attention to their table.

“‘Morning, amigo,” she greeted him. “How was your run?” She noted his hair, pulled back in its usual ponytail, was still damp.

“Good,” he replied, opening up his menu. “Nice to have a change of scenery.” He paused, looking at her. “How are you this morning?” His look was pointed. “You sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Sarah responded, pouring cream into her coffee. “The bed was surprisingly comfortable.” She’d been trying not to burden her friend any more than necessary, so, she’d been downplaying the nightmares. Besides, she was a grown woman, used to standing on her own and solving her own problems.

Satisfied with her answer, he turned his attention to the menu. The server, Charlene according to her badge, showed up to take their orders. Sarah gave hers first, then she watched the interaction between Charlene and Chuy. After Charlene had topped off their barely touched cups and left, Sarah gave her friend an arch look.

Chuy apparently noticed, frowning as he poured cream into his own cup and stirred. “What?” he asked. He took a sip of his coffee.

Sarah looked at him a little longer, then shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. She always marveled at his apparent obliviousness to the women who tried to flirt with him. He was never anything but properly friendly. She wondered if Maria was aware of his lack of a roving eye. Probably. After all, she’d had no qualms about the two of them taking this trip.

Sarah rested her elbows on the table, both hands wrapped around the cup.

“So, this wedding. You know anything about the guy Linda is marrying?”

“Robert? Not much. Why?”

Sarah shrugged. “Just wondering.” She sipped her coffee and set the cup down. “I guess the days of getting the patriarch’s approval are gone.”

Chuy snorted. “Long gone.”

“Did you and Maria have to get the families’ blessings?”

Chuy waited to answer, Charlene having arrived with their orders. She left after being assured they didn’t need anything else. Chuy resumed the conversation.

“I guess we didn’t _need_ to,” he said, stirring his oatmeal. “But we did, anyway.” He paused in the act of lifting his laden spoon. “Did your brother?”

“Mike?” Sarah responded, cutting up her eggs. “Yeah. He took his responsibilities as Eldest Son pretty seriously.” She took a bite of bacon. “Hell, he takes _every_ thing seriously.”

Chuy chuckled. He’d met Mike once. Later, he’d asked Sarah if Mike was having troubles, because he frowned so much.

“How about you?” he asked, grinning as he mixed the fruit and yogurt together. “Would you have asked your parents?” He stopped mid-stir, looking up quickly. As their eyes met, Sarah could see regret and pain in her friend’s expression – for his blunder, for her and the might-have-beens and failed youthful expectations.

Sarah looked down at her plate and responded quietly. “Don’t worry, _cuate_. I’d had no plans to marry Nick. We’d only known each other for seven months.” She picked up her cup and took a sip, marveling at how calm she was. Smiling a little, she asked, “Besides, do I seem like the marrying type?”

Chuy returned her smile, relaxing a little in relief. “No, I guess not.” They were quiet while they finished their meals, both lost in thought. Charlene stopped by, coffee pot in hand. They declined refills so she left the check.

While they were looking at the total and digging out their money, the guy with whom Sarah had exchanged ‘Mornin’s’ stood up and, setting some cash on his table, turned to leave. Once again, their eyes met. Sarah smiled and nodded. He nodded back, saying, “You have a good day, now,” as he walked past. 

Chuy, surprised, looked quickly at the passing figure then back at Sarah. His expression settled into one of amused accusal. Shaking his head, he said, “It never fails.”

Sarah looked at him blankly. “What never fails?”

“Wherever we go,” he said as he slid out of the booth, “some guy flirts with you.” He looked down at her. “You never noticed?”

 

 

The trip through Ohio and Indiana was uneventful. They took turns driving and paying for gas. At a number of stops, people came up to Chuy with questions about the Chevy and whether he was headed to a car show. To those who asked for them, he handed out cards for both his and Carlos’ businesses. He told Sarah that while he didn’t expect to get any business from these people this far from New York, they may know someone who lived closer.

“You never know,” he said.

At one stop, a gas station in an established suburban area near Indianapolis, Indiana, he was approached by two young women, late teens/early twenties, lightly tanned, one in shorts, both giggling. Sarah, already on the driver’s side, rested her chin and folded arms on top of the car and watched with amusement as the braver of the two asked, with a toss of her long brown hair, if there was a car show nearby. They were disappointed by his answer, but giggled a couple more questions. Sarah could tell Chuy was getting uncomfortable and when he crossed his arms she thought she might have to rescue him. Before she could make like the cavalry, though, the young ladies thanked him and walked away. Chuy turned, a bemused expression on his face. Sarah smirked at him.

“Disgusting,” she teased. “A man your age…”

He tried to glare at her, but, the whole situation only deserved humor. Returning her smirk, he asked, “Did you put in the additive?”

“Yep.” They usually traded off the filling and maintenance duties, but Sarah was glad to do them out of turn while he answered questions about the car.

“Need anything at the store?”

“Nope.”

“Well, then…” he said, opening the passenger door.

“It should be pretty much a straight shot from here into Springfield,” Sarah said as she settled in behind the wheel, adjusting the mirrors.

Chuy nodded. “Just let me know when you want to trade off,” he said, picking up his tablet. He’d been taking advantage of the trip to do a lot of reading and since Sarah was enjoying the driving she was happy to let him have the shorter shifts.

She started the car and put it into gear then took a moment to tune the radio in to a local station. Chuy, watching her, asked, “Got a hankerin’ fer farm reports?”

Sarah looked at him sidelong. “ _Traffic_ reports,” she said, straightening up. “Since we don’t have a CB, this will be the next best thing.”

“Ah.” After a moment’s thought, he said, “CBs. They still use those?”

Sarah considered the question as she eased the Chevy through the gas station.

“I _think_ so. I’ll ask the guys the next time we meet.”

“Any of them still truckers?”

She waited until they had merged with the highway traffic. “Most of them have either retired or have gone to dedicated routes, so they can have a more normal schedule,” she said, settling back in the seat. “I think one of the younger guys still does long haul. I’ll ask him.”

“Which one gave you the idea for the cattle prod?”

“That would be Warren,” she said, smiling. “He retired a long time ago so he’s not part of the group. He used to end up in some pretty iffy places, so he was always telling us office types cautionary tales about keeping a weapon handy.”

“I understand him not wanting to carry a gun, what with having to worry about permits and the differing laws between states, but, why not a tire iron or a bat?”

Sarah nodded, her eyes still on the road. “He had those. But, he’d a gal who sometimes rode with him. She was the one who came up with the idea of the ‘prod. She was petite and she figured an electric prod wouldn’t require much upper body strength. You don’t have to swing it, just –thrust–” Sarah made a move with her hand. “You hit someone anywhere…” she shrugged. “ ‘Course, some spots are more tender than others.” She noted Chuy shifted a little, as if thinking about tender spots. She hid a grin. “Anyway, it seemed like a good idea.”

“It certainly came in handy.”

“Yeah. But it didn’t keep me from getting hurt,” she said, absently touching the side of her face.

“So, maybe you’ll take those self-defense classes you’ve been talking about?” he said. “At least learn how to duck?”

“And fall,” she nodded in agreement, accepting the verbal nudge. “Yeah. Another thing I’ll have to take care of when I get back.”

“Good,” he said and eased back in his corner and fired up his tablet.

 

 

 

They spent the night at a motel outside Springfield, IL. On the advice of the young man at the front desk, they had dinner at a restaurant with an eclectic menu. Sarah thought about trying the local specialty, the Horseshoe Sandwich, but, after seeing the one delivered to the next table, decided otherwise.

“No way I could eat all that,” she muttered, turning back to the menu. “Oh, well, something more sensible, I guess.”

Chuy, having already made his decision, was looking around at the dinning room. “You could always make up for it with desert,” he offered helpfully. “They have a number of them with chocolate.”

“There’s a thought,” she said, “though, I probably should cut back on that, too.” Setting the menu down, she continued, “I think I’m already putting on some weight on this trip. At this rate, I’ll be hard pressed to fit into the dress I brought for the wedding.”

Chuy turned back to her. “You could always join me on my morning runs.”

“Har. Har.” She responded. “You so funny.”

The server showed up and took their order. While they waited for their food, Chuy’s phone alerted him he had an email. Checking it, he said, “It’s from Maria. Wants to know how the trip is going.” He paused, reading. “If we’re on schedule to pick them up from the airport Thursday night.” Then something he read made him smile in a way that spoke of intimacies. He logged off, putting the phone back in his pocket. “I’ll read the rest later.”

Sarah met his eye as he looked up again, her eyebrow raised, smiling knowingly. He paused, then flushed a little. He was saved by the timely arrival of their meals.

Sarah decided to let him off the hook, as they set about eating. “You can tell Maria we are on schedule.” She sliced a piece of her six ounce steak. “When do they get in?”

“8pm, I think.” He paused to cut his chicken breast. “I’ll have to check.”

“Well, shouldn’t be a problem. We’ll be in Albuquerque Wednesday night.” She ate some of her potato. “When were you going to have the car detailed?”

“Thursday afternoon.” He glanced up at her briefly before eating a piece of broccoli. “We should have time after the visit to the cemetery.”

Sarah didn’t respond. She hadn’t actually thought that part of the trip since early on that first day. Now, it loomed up large and ominous on the horizon and she found her heart pounding. She tried to push the thought back where it had been as she concentrated on cutting up her steak, her vision tunneling down to just the food on her plate.

Chuy’s hand on her wrist seemed to come out of nowhere. Her head jerked up, her eyes refocused and she found her friend looking at her with a concerned frown.

“Sarah?”

“What?” she asked, her voice sounding far away and odd. She set her utensils down.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine. Why?”

“You sure?” Chuy had lowered his voice. “We can have this boxed up and…”

“Goddammit, Chuy!” she blazed at him, suddenly enraged. “I told you I’m fine!” Reaching almost blindly for her iced tea, her hand shook, belying her words. She rested her hand on the table, just short of the glass, and clenched it to stop the shaking. Staring at it, her thoughts were a jumble of every profanity in every language she knew. Chuy’s hand closed over her fist and she looked up at him, chagrin replacing rage.

“God, Chuy,” she almost whispered. “I’m _so_ sorry…”

“It’s okay.”

“I don’t know where that came from.”

“Amiga,” his tone stopped her, “it’s okay.” He squeezed her hand before letting go. “Let’s just finish our dinner.” Sarah blinked at him, took a deep breath and nodded. As she reached for her knife, Chuy, glancing up from his own plate, said, “I don’t think you’ll need that.”

Looking down, she found he was right. She’d already cut up her steak. Into little, tiny pieces. The sight of the little cubes of beef suddenly struck her as funny. Grinning, she looked back up at Chuy. “Maybe I should ask for a straw.”

He smiled at her attempt at humor, but it seemed perfunctory. Sarah realized that her outburst had not gone unnoticed by the other diners – the background buzz of conversation was just resuming. She turned back to her plate, grin fading. She wasn’t finding her meal appetizing anymore, but she ate anyway.

It was full dark as they drove back to the motel. Sarah tried to gage Chuy’s mood as she watched him drive. They hadn’t spoken to each other since they finished their meal. Sarah had no idea what he was thinking, but she felt she had to say something.

“I’m sorry, Chuy,” she said, “I guess I’m more stressed over this than I realized.”

He glanced her way then shrugged.

“It’s okay. I’ve seen it before,” he said. “But,” his voice took on an odd tone, “I’ve never had to deal with it in someone who was a friend first.”

Sarah was glad it was dark as she blinked away the tears that welled up, a reaction to his apparent disquiet on her behalf. Her emotional fragility was really starting to piss her off. Suck it up, she told herself, surreptitiously wiping her eyes. It’ll be over soon. You’ll perform your duty, almost thirty years over-due, and then get on with your life.

When the doubting little voice piped up, she told it to fuck off.

Again, that night, her dreams were mostly of unease and discord. She did sleep, but when the alarm on the motel clock radio went off, she was already awake and sitting on the edge of the bed, sipping water from the cup she’d set on the nightstand the night before. Sighing, she turned the alarm off and went in to the bathroom.

The florescent lighting did nothing for her mood, and made her reflected self look more haggard than she was. At least, she hoped that was the case. The sleep shirt she was wearing was the one Harold liked – not that she ever wore it for long on the nights he came over. It clung to her slightly and the thin material provided little warmth. She had brought it hoping its association with those pleasurable memories would help on this trip. She closed her eyes, remembering Harold’s visit the night before she left. There had been hardly any conversation, but there was playfulness and she smiled at the memory. The feelings they stirred up, though, made her open her eyes again. She frowned at her reflection, thinking that she may have swapped one problematic mood for another. 

Pulling the shirt off over her head she thought she should find out if cold showers really worked as advertised.


	2. Chapter 2

Their itinerary said they’d be staying in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma that night and the day certainly started out well enough. They were both in better spirits than they were when they parted the night before. Sarah knew where her improved mood came from and she wondered if Chuy’s email from Maria was the source of his.

They had breakfast at a different restaurant than the one where they had dinner. Chuy ordered yoghurt and fruit and raised an eyebrow at her when she ordered the same.

“I’m feeling a little rotund,” she said in response. “I need to try to get back my girlish figure.”

“Now, why would a mature woman want to look like a girl?” he asked.

Sarah smiled broadly at him. “I can see why Maria keeps you around,” she said as she stirred her coffee.

He smiled at her comment, taking a sip from his cup. “I’m serious,” he said, setting the cup down. “A woman looks better with a little weight.”

“The operative word is ‘little’”, she said, “and I believe I’ve gone past that.”

Chuy’s expression was enigmatic, but there was a little curl at the corners of his mouth.

“I’ll bet you new _novio_ doesn’t think so.”

“Well, you may be right,” she said as he took another sip of coffee, meeting his eye and the challenge she saw in it. “But, then, the room is usually dark…” Chuy choked a little, trying to swallow and not laugh at the same time. Feeling impish, she followed up with, “So, anything else _interesting_ in Maria’s email?” Her look was pointed and Chuy reddened, but his gaze didn’t waiver.

“Oh, not much,” he said. “She said to say ‘hi’.” Then he volleyed back, “Rosa says ‘hi’, too.”

Sarah smiled, relenting. Rosa was her soft spot, which Chuy well knew. The greeting was no doubt true, but it was still a calculated move on his part.

“I’ll be glad to see them both,” she said, her voice softening a little. “Something to look forward to.” Their eyes met briefly. The rest of that thought “after the cemetery,” remained unspoken.

 

 

 

“So,” Sarah said, shifting the shoulder strap so she could turn slightly to look more directly at Chuy, “these people are saying that ‘machismo’ is a _European_ social construct?”

“Yep.”

The discussion had started over lunch at a small coffee shop outside St. Louis, Missouri and they’d been back on the road less than an hour. The thumb drive was playing through the stereo but neither of them was really paying attention.

“And that the Aztecs had an acceptance of people who had ‘two spirits’…” she stopped. Chuy was frowning and applying the brake. Looking forward, Sarah saw the traffic had slowed considerably. They looked at each other then Sarah leaned forward to switch the stereo over to the local radio station she’d set up earlier, cutting Gordon Lightfoot off partway through ‘Carefree’.

“This isn’t good, _compadré_ ,” she said, straightening up.

“Maybe it’s construction?”

“Maybe. If so, we didn’t notice any signs.”

The radio was playing music – no help there. They were behind a van, a motor home in front of that, so they couldn’t see very far ahead. Sarah rolled down the window and stuck her head out and Chuy maneuvered the car over as far as he could to afford her a better look.

She pulled her head back in. “Can’t see much, but there looks like there are a lot of semis taking the next exit. Probably a truck stop. We could stop there and find out what’s up.”

It took thirty minutes for them to go the two miles to the exit, stop and go all the way. Chuy chatted with a young blonde gal in an old white pickup next to them. She didn’t know what the problem was, either. When they got to the exit, they joined a line of tractor-trailer rigs and they all ended up at the predicted truck stop. Chuy dropped Sarah at the door of the combo coffee shop/store and then drove on to find a place to park.

Inside, Sarah stood and looked around for a moment. The entrance to the restaurant was off to the right and it appeared to be slowly filling up with customers. The store wasn’t large but had a wonderful mix of packaged food, toiletries, DVDs, flashlights, batteries, socks, shirts (flannel and T), and small appliances. Sarah would have loved to look around, but she needed information. There was a small line at the sales counter, the young cashier ringing up sales at a respectable speed. The clerk would probably know about the problem out on the highway, but Sarah had already spotted a more likely source and she headed that direction. 

    Sarah’s target was a heavy, pink-cheeked, forty-something woman, her long, graying hair pulled back with a clip. She wore a shirt with the name of the truck stop embroidered on the breast pocket and had a number of access cards on a lanyard around her neck. She was talking to two men, one a bright eyed, white haired old guy, the other a ruddy faced younger man, probably in his early thirties and dressed like a mechanic. As Sarah got closer, she thought she saw a familial resemblance between the three. She stood near, trying to catch the other woman’s eye. After a moment, she looked her way and asked pleasantly, “Can I help you, hon?”

“Actually, I’m hoping to get some info on what’s up,” she said, smiling at all of them and nodding her head in the direction of the Interstate. The two men deferred to the other woman, whose name was Doreen, according to her name tag.

Doreen squinted slightly at Sarah and asked, “You headed west?”

“That’s the plan.”

 “Well, now, you’re in for a bit of a wait,” Doreen said. “A big rig jackknifed a little ways west from here. Doors weren’t secured properly and they opened up. Dumped his load all over both lanes.”

Sarah winced in genuine sympathy. “Driver okay?”

“Oh, he’s fine,” Doreen drawled and the younger of the two men snorted.

“Oh?” Sarah asked.

Doreen, apparently amused, glanced at the younger man. “That particular cowboy has a high opinion of himself,” she said. “This accident’s gonna bring him down a peg or two.”

Sarah’s lips pursed, fighting a grin. “Well, if the worst injury is to his pride, it sounds like he got off easy.” Sarah spotted Chuy coming in to the store and she raised a hand to catch his eye. He nodded at her then pointed to the rear of the store where a sign said the restrooms were located and headed that direction. Turning back to her three informants, Sarah asked, “So, what caused the accident? Some four-wheeler cut him off?”

“That’s it, exactly,” Doreen said, now looking at Sarah thoughtfully. “You sound like you been in the business.”

“Shipping. Managed the loading dock, tracked shipments.”

“Well, then, you know how these things go. They’ll be the rest of the day, cleaning up the mess. You won’t get any further tonight.”

Just then, Chuy walked up and looked a question at Sarah.

“Houston, we have a problem,” she said to him. “These nice folks have informed me we’re stuck here for the night.” She turned back to the three. “Any idea when the road will open up?”

At this, the older man spoke up. “Reports are that it’ll be a good eight hours or so.”

“Is there some way to get around the accident?” Chuy asked.

“Normally, I’d say yes. Would’ve added a few hours to your drive. That’s where they’re routing the traffic, in fact. But, turns out _that_ route’s got its own problems. They’re re-paving and it’s down to one lane each way.” The old guy nodded in the direction of the lot for overnight parking. “That’s why all these truckers are holing up here, wait it out.”

Doreen asked, “You need a room for the night?”

“Two, actually,” Sarah said quickly.

“Well, my daughter’s working the desk at a motel in the town that’s a little ways down this road. I’ll give her a call, if you’d like.”

Sarah glanced at Chuy, got a quick nod of assent, then turned back to Doreen. “That would be great. I’m Sarah, by the way. This is Jesús.”

Doreen nodded in acknowledgement as she pulled a cell phone from her jeans pocket. “It’ll be just a few minutes,” she said as she stepped away.

The younger man said something about getting back to work. The older man, leaning an arm on a stack of soda cases, took up the conversation.

“So, worked for a shipping company?”

Sarah likewise settled against a shelf while Chuy found something interesting to check out on a display behind her.

“Yep. Worked for them for fifteen years.”

“Retired?”

“Laid off.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Economy’s changed a lot of lives.”

“That’s true,” she said. “In my case, it worked out okay. Took it as an opportunity to do something different.”

“Well, now, that’s the attitude to have. No good cryin’ about it or blamin’ someone and waitin’ for a handout.”

“You’re right about that. ‘Course, it was easier for me, what with not having any kids or husband or house. I could be flexible.”

“Yeah. Damn shame about them folks.”

“Yep.”

There was a brief silence, both of them nodding companionably. “So, what’d you get in to?” the old guy asked.

“Limo driver.” At his surprised expression she said, “It’s a lot like trucking,” she grinned. “‘Cept, instead of hauling company assets, I haul company asses.”

His guffaw drew some surprised looks from people in another aisle. Doreen, having finished her call, came back, looking quizzically at the old man. Turning to Sarah, she said, “Well, you’re in luck. Mary said she’ll have two rooms set aside for you. They’re not next to each other. Hope that’s okay.”

Chuy, standing behind Sarah, replied, “I’m sure whatever she has will be fine.”

“It’ll be an hour or so before the rooms are ready.” Doreen fished a business card out of her shirt pocket. “Here’s the phone number and address. Little map on the back.”

Sarah took the card and put it in her own pocket. “We appreciate your helping us like this.”

Doreen shrugged. “No problem. I spent many a night on the road, myself.”

They chatted a few more minutes. Then a clerk came to get Doreen to oversee some small crises. The old guy said his farewells, too. As he walked away, Sarah heard him repeat “haulin’ company asses” and chuckling.

“Well,” Sarah said, checking her watch, “guess we could kill some time here ‘til the rooms are ready.” She looked at Chuy. “This puts a bit of a hitch in the plans.”

“Yeah.” Chuy was quiet for a minute. “Guess we’ll have to hit the road early tomorrow. To make up time.”

“Blast through Oklahoma City; see how far we can get tomorrow night.” Sarah nodded. “We’ll take a look at the map. Find a likely stopping place.”

Quietly, Chuy asked, “What time are you supposed to be at the cemetery Thursday?”

“9am.” Sarah’s response was automatic. Discussing logistics and timing was second nature to her; no emotions involved. “If we can get close to ‘Burque before we stop tomorrow, we can go straight there the next morning.” She paused. “I don’t think there will be a problem picking up everyone from the airport, but what about the detailing on the Chevy?”

Chuy shrugged. “The wedding’s not until Friday. I can always surprise her that morning.” He smiled. “Might work better, in fact.”

“Well,” she said, looking around. “What should we do for an hour? Want something at the coffee shop?”

He shook his head. “We just had lunch and we’ll want dinner early, as it is.”

Sarah nodded, her eyes drawn to a set of mugs on the shelf they were standing next to.

“That was quite a conversation you had,” Chuy’s tone was dry.

Sarah turned back, eyebrow raised.

“With the old guy,” he clarified. “I know you’re good with dialects, but I didn’t know you spoke ‘geezer’.”

Sarah’s eyebrow arched even higher. “Watch it, amigo,” she smiled. “He’s not that much older than _you_ ,” she said, poking him in the arm.

“Still,” he persisted, “I’ve never heard you speak quiet like that.”

She shrugged. “Regional dialects change over time. Older people speak differently than younger; have different vocabularies. Talking to the teens and twenty-somethings,” she said, “that is getting harder.”

“I can lend you some of the grandkids,” Chuy said in his helpful tone. “You can all hang out together.”

“Oh, yeah. They’d _love_ that.”

“Take them for pizza.”

“Is that what you do?”

“Sure,” he deadpanned. “Why do you think I’m their favorite grandparent?”

Sarah frowned a little as a thought occurred. “Are there geezer Chicanos?”

“ _Claro_.”

“Do they talk like white ones?”

“Hell, no. They’re _más firme_.”

“Cooler, huh?” Sarah said. “Well, I guess I’ll find out in, what, one, two years?”

 

 

 

Mary turned out to be a pleasant young woman in her twenties who could have been a clone of her mother. They asked her about gas stations and places to eat and, wise beyond her years in the way of travelers, she pointed them to a gas station that had the lowest prices. “Also,” she said, “in the same direction is a restaurant you could easily walk to from here.” She looked at the motel registration cards. “New York, huh? Well, the food there is pretty simple, meat and potatoes kinda thing. But, it’s good and the prices are fair.”

“Oh,” she said as they headed for the door, “if you’re thinking of hitting the road early, you’ll want to gas up tonight. The station doesn’t open until six and folks tend to line up.”

Heeding the young lady’s advice, they decided to drive to the gas station first and stop for dinner on the way back to the motel. Sarah noted as she drove the Chevy past the restaurant that its sign announced that night’s special was Pot Roast.

“Wow, I haven’t had pot roast in… I don’t know how long.” She glanced at Chuy. “Sounds good. And they’ve got a bar. Looks like we’ll be in time for Happy Hour.”

“Oh, good. We’ll get to sample the local night life,” he said, taking a sip from his bottle of water.

“Yeah. Hey,” Sarah said, brightly, “Maybe they’ll have karaoke.” She grinned at him as if this would be the best thing ever.

He sighed. “ _Dios mio_. Please no.”

“No, no, that would be great,” she said, still feigning enthusiasm. “Maybe some trucker will get up and sing that song from ‘Titanic’.”

Chuy, in the middle of another pull from his bottle, choked and nearly spit the water out at the windshield. He laughed, shaking his head and wiping his chin.

With this, they arrived at the gas station, Sarah pulling the Chevy up to one of the pumps. They both got out, still laughing. It was Sarah’s turn to pay, Chuy’s to pump. Having swiped her card through the reader, Sarah leaned against the car, expanding on the whole trucker-karaoke scenario, keeping her friend chuckling.

While she was entertaining Chuy, another car pulled up to a pump at the other island. It was the latest model Mustang, two door with a custom candy tangerine paint job and both Sarah and Chuy looked at it admiringly. The driver, a young man with spiky blonde hair, got out of the car languidly. The passenger side door popped open and a youth with bushy brown hair quickly got out, and last, crawling from the back seat, a young man with freckles, his short straight hair that dark red color that Sarah had always envied.

Now, Sarah had observed that ‘car people’ appreciated the attention their vehicles received and that there was a protocol for such encounters. So, when Chuy nodded approvingly to the Mustang’s driver, she was startled when the young man returned the gesture with a sneer. Sarah blinked and turned to Chuy, who looked surprised as well and then shrugged.

Meanwhile, Blonde and Bushy were giving instructions to Freckles as to what they wanted him to get from the gas station store. Hearing them made Sarah think of something she needed.

“I think I should get a box of tissues for the car,” Sarah said to Chuy. “You know, in case you have another water mishap.” She laughed at his mock sneer, asked if he needed anything else and then headed for the store.

Once inside she asked at the counter where the tissues were. The clerk, a beefy, ruddy skinned older man with a vinegarish expression, pointed to the third of four isles. She noted the clerk was watching Freckles who was loading up on goodies from the candy display. She found the isle she needed, grabbed a box of tissues and headed back to the counter, coming up abruptly beside the young man as he turned toward around.

 He must have seen her peripherally as she approached, because his head whipped around. Startled, he lost control of the load he was juggling and half of it fell to the floor. He glanced at Sarah, flushed and bent down to pick up the escapees only to loose the rest as well.

Sarah squatted next to him. “I think you need another set of hands,” she said as she started to pick up little packages. He looked at her and she was struck by the deep blue of his eyes. She smiled which seemed to surprise him. Then, he smiled back.

Yep, she thought, this kid’s gonna be a real lady killer.

Hands full, they both stood up and set his haul on the counter. He glanced at her lone purchase.

“You go ahead,” he said.

“No, that’s okay, she said, smiling. “Your buddies are waiting.” She glanced out the large front window at the young men standing next to the Mustang. Bushy was pumping the gas. Both were looking toward the store. “And they don’t strike me as patient types.”

Freckles flashed her a quick, nervous grin. “No. They’re not. Thanks.” The clerk, still looking sour, mutely rang up the young man’s purchase and bagged the candies. Bag in hand, Freckles glanced back at Sarah with another quick smile and headed back out to the car and his waiting friends.

Sarah turned back to the clerk and found him watching Freckles leaving.

“Nice kid,” she said, glancing back out the window. “Can’t say I’m impressed with his choice of friends, though.”

The clerk, turning to Sarah, said, “He’s okay. But the blonde is trouble.”

“Yeah?” Sarah said.

“He just turned twenty-one,” he said, leaning forward and settling his beefy hands on the counter. “The other two turned twenty-one some months ago with hardly a fuss. But _this_ one…” He made a sound of disgust. “So, since he’s their ringleader, he’s been taking them to all the bars or buying liquor and sitting in parking lots, getting drunk and smashing bottles. From the look of them, they’ve already been at it today.” He shook his head, looking even more sour. “That fancy car of his? His daddy owns the dealership.”

“Well,” Sarah said, looking at the beefy man’s watery blue eyes, “you and I were once that age. We knew everything and nothing bad would ever happen to us, no matter how stupidly we acted.” His expression didn’t change. In fact, Sarah had the distinct impression that he had no idea what she was talking about. They stared at each other for a minute. “Maybe they’ll grow out of it,” she offered. He gave a skeptical grunt and settled back on his stool.

As Sarah walked back, she saw Chuy leaning against his car, arms folded and Blonde was leaning against the Mustang, arms also crossed. Bushy had just returning the nozzle back to its hook, his attention on his friend and Chuy. Freckles was standing back a little, his eyes darting from Blonde, Chuy, and Bushy and back again.

Sarah, not even breaking stride, walked up to the Chevy. As she opened the passenger door, her back to the trio, she asked in a voice she thought was low enough to only be heard by Chuy, “What’s up, amigo?”

Sarah hadn’t accounted for the keenness of young ears, because Blonde answered, loudly, “What’s up is we have a MEXICAN stand off.”

Sarah, not turning, glanced at Chuy, meeting his eye as he looked sidelong at her. Wonderful, she thought as she tossed the box of tissues into the car and closed the door, young bigots. Sighing, she turned to face them. By their flushed faces and Blonde’s slightly slurred speech, it appeared the store clerk was right about them having been drinking. At least Blonde and Bushy. Freckles had seemed pretty sober to her.

So, young, drunk, bigots. While Sarah was sure, if it came to it, Chuy could take Blonde without breaking a sweat, neither she nor her friend would want to answer to the local law enforcement. Being strangers in town, they would have some credibility issues.

Looking at Blonde’s sneering face and arrogant stance, Sarah felt a flash of anger and her fingers itched for her cattle prod. She leaned against the car next to Chuy, her shoulder touching his, her hands partly stuck in her front jeans pockets. She smiled a thin lipped smile and forced a relaxed manner.

“Well,” she said in a conversational tone, but loud enough to be heard by all parties, “A ‘Mexican’ stand off? I don’t think so. Strictly speaking,” she continued, “a classic Mexican stand off requires three parties, each of whom has a gun.” Blonde started to look less cocky. Bushy seemed confused and kept looking to Blonde, as if for a clue as to what was happening. Sarah continued, warming up to the subject. “Now, the first to shoot is at a tactical disadvantage, because, while shooting one of the others, the third one could shoot _him_. Additionally, there’s no safe way for any party to withdraw. _That_ ,” she said, her words becoming clipped, “is a Mexican stand off.” She shrugged. “I think what we have is one ignorant bigot who can’t hold his liquor. Or his end of an argument.”

Blonde stared at her, his bluster having deflated on Sarah’s verbal barbs. In the silence and with everyone looking to him for the next move, he became flustered. Angry, he did the only thing his limited experience could lend him to.

“Fuck you!” he finally spat out. “You talk too much, bitch!”

“Ah,” Sarah’s smile widened, “Resorting to swearing.” She turned slightly to Chuy, keeping her eyes on Blonde. “And he’s piss poor at _that_ , too.”

Blonde was so angry, he actually sputtered. Throwing open the driver’s side door, he said, “C’mon. These two shitheads aren’t worth it,” and got in, pulling the door closed with a slam. Bushy ran to the other side, opening the door and gesturing Freckles to get in.

Freckles, for his part, seemed genuinely astonished at this turn of events. Sarah had been aware of him during her monologue and had the impression he’d been following what she’d been saying. Just before he ducked his head down to climb in, he looked at her. She smiled at him to let him know that she knew he was in on the whole ploy. He stopped for a minute, then flashed that smile, his friend berating him to hurry up and get in.

Blonde had already started the car, gunning the engine, impatient to be gone. With everyone loaded, the Mustang took off with a squeal and choking cloud of burnt rubber.

Chuy and Sarah, still shoulder to shoulder, watched the car disappear around a near corner with more squealing of tires. In the quiet that followed Sarah turned to Chuy to find him regarding her with some admiration.

“Christ, Sarah. That was impressive.”

She flushed, now embarrassed by the show she’d put on.

“Shit, Chuy, that was _stupid_. The little prick was right. I talk too much.”

“No, no. It was great.”

Sarah looked at him skeptically, suspecting she was being mocked.

“I’m serious,” he said as he pushed away from the car. Sarah followed suit and walked to the driver side.

“Well, it was one way to diffuse the situation,” she said to him over the top of the car. “You know. ‘If you can’t blind them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit’.”

Chuy paused in the act of opening the door. “Amiga, as much as I enjoyed that, we could have just left.”

Sarah stood stock-still, looking at him. Retreat hadn’t even occurred to her. She rolled her eyes. “ _Now_ he tells me” she said, getting into the car.

She pulled the Chevy away from the pump and back on to the road.  “So, what caused the problem with him, anyway?” she asked, glancing at Chuy. She saw a flash of revulsion on his face.

“He took exception to my existence,” he said, a wealth of meaning behind that short statement.

Sarah said nothing. What could she say? She never understood the need some people had for accosting complete strangers simply because they were a particular ethnicity. Of course, she’d never been on the receiving end of someone else’s racial hate. When she heard about it, she was mystified. Seeing it made her angry.

Seeing it happen to a good friend… _really_ pissed her off.

As they approached the restaurant, she said, “You’re right. We should have just left,” she said, even though that wasn’t what she felt. “All I did was prolong the situation.”

She pulled the Chevy into a spot a short distance from the front door and parked. Turning to her friend, she said, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let the little _pendejo_ get to me.”

Chuy’s expression was a mixture of amusement and sympathy. “That’s okay, amiga. Besides,” he said, “I like watching you insult people.”

“Well, it was all I could do,” she said. “I didn’t bring the ‘prod.”

 

 

They had just begun their meal when there was a commotion at the front door. As the noise got louder, Sarah looked up. She saw the Blonde from the gas station, his two friends right behind him, push past the hostess and head for the dinning room, stopping the waitress to give her their order. At this early hour, Sarah and Chuy were the only ones in that part of the restaurant, the other customers sitting at small tables near the bar. She watched the young men as they made for a table on the other side when Blonde glanced around the dining area and they locked gazes. He stopped while his buddies, pushing each other and loudly talking trash, started to pull chairs out from the table.

Blonde must have read the expression on her face. Still looking at her, he reached back and slapped Bushy to get his attention and then indicated Sarah with a nod of his head. Blonde said something to Bushy who, after a glance at Sarah, grinned and tapped Freckles on the shoulder. Still pushing and shoving each other, the three headed for a table not five feet from Sarah and Chuy’s booth.

Sarah turned back in time to see Chuy’s eyes shift from the three to her. He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Shit,” she said.

Chuy poured himself more beer from the pitcher, then tore his roll in half and deftly used it to soak up some gravy. “Maybe they’ll quiet down after they get their food,” he said quietly, not looking at them. Just then, all three burst out laughing, swearing and high-fiving each other.

“Maybe we should just finish eating and leave,” she said, matching his tone and taking a swallow of her beer. As they ate in silence, the noise from the next table continued. Sarah became aware that the trio was looking their way and realized that she and Chuy were the subject of their conversation.

She did her best to ignore them, trying, like Chuy, to remain calm. She thought she was doing okay, until Blonde, his voice raised enough to make sure he was heard, said, “Border Nigger.”

Sarah set her fork and knife down and sat upright. She stared across the table at Chuy, who had also stopped eating. He raised his head to look at her. The set of his jaw matched the clenched feeling in her gut.

But, it was the glitter in his eyes that made her breath catch in her throat.

She held his gaze, willing him to stay in his seat and not act on the violent urge that was almost its own physical presence. For several heartbeats he sat rock still, eyes locked on hers. Then, he took a deep breath and his gaze shifted to his glass. As he reached for it, Sarah saw his hand shake ever so slightly. He took a swig and to Sarah it seemed as if he was washing the anger back down his throat and that it tasted like bile. Setting the glass down, he looked at her, his expression rueful.

The anger Sarah had felt at the words from the little shit was nothing to what she felt now. She looked over at the other table. She could tell they were laughing, but all she could hear at that moment was the sound of her blood pounding in her ears. Freckles didn’t seem to be having as good a time, but the Blonde and Bushy apparently found their own wit hilarious.

She turned back to her friend. He’d given up eating and was about halfway through his glass of beer, studiously not looking at the other table’s occupants. He met her eyes and a frown appeared.

“What are you thinking, amiga?” he asked quietly, but there was a note of concern in his voice.

As Sarah filled her glass from the pitcher, one part of her brain was impressed with the steadiness of her hand. She downed her drink in a few huge swallows and started to slip out of the booth. Chuy stopped her, placing his hand on her arm.

“Sarah?”

She meant her smile to be reassuring, but it felt feral and the concern reflected in Chuy’s face deepened.

“Don’t worry, amigo. I’m just headed to the bar.” Her grin widened. “I’m going to get a peace offering.” He looked skeptical, but released her.

“Oh,” she said, turning to him, “you _are_ the designated driver, right?”

Chuy glanced at the three young men. He shook his head and exchanged his unfinished beer for his untouched glass of water.

“I am now,” he said and settled back in the booth.

At Sarah’s request, the bartender, a jovial middle aged man with a Marine tattoo on his tanned forearm, set a bottle of each of the tequilas he carried out on the bar counter.

“Oy.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said in an undertone. “We don’t get much call for good tequila here. Mostly it’s young…people,” he nodded his head toward the dinning room, “and all they want is to prove how macho they are.” His expression was scornful. “They don’t care about the taste.”

Sarah shrugged. “Well, I guess I’ll take this one,” she said, indicating the least objectionable of the lot and putting the cash on the counter. “And four glasses, please.” He handed them over, plainly curious. She nodded her thanks.

Bottle in one hand, glasses in the other, she headed straight to the table of her antagonists. Freckles spotted her first. He watched her for a moment, then nudged Bushy who, glancing her way, quickly got Blonde’s attention. By the time she reached their tableside, all three of them were looking at her. She noted that their food hadn’t arrived yet.

Even better.

Blonde looked at the bottle then at Sarah. “What’s up ‘taco shell’?” he asked, turning to his friends and laughing. Bushy joined in. Freckles barely smiled and shifted as if uncomfortable.

Sarah inwardly sighed, dug deep, and found a smile.

“I think we all got off on the wrong foot, back at the gas station,” she said. “So, in the interest of…Oh I don’t know, burying the hatchet? Extending an olive branch?” She picked up the bottle, broke the seal and filled one of the glasses, the clear liquid looking deceptively like water. “Anyway, my friend Jesús and I decided to stand you guys a few drinks.” She poured a second glass. “The bartender suggested this one,” she lied as she waived the bottle a little and then poured a third glass.

“Yeah,” Blonde said. “It’s pretty kick-ass.” Sarah noted his speech was still a little slurred.

“Ah, well then, since you’re used to it, I don’t have any doubts you’ll join me in a couple of shots.”

Bushy, showing some spine, asked,” Join you? What about him?” he jerked his head toward Chuy.

“He’s the designated driver. We take turns.” Sarah paused in the act of pouring a forth glass. “Maybe you guys should have one as well?” she said, flicking a quick glance at Freckles, who had been watching her closely.

“I’ll be the driver,” he said, quickly, looking at Blonde. “You go ahead, Ricky. You know I don’t really like tequila, anyway.”

  Ricky, sneering, turned back to Sarah. “Yeah. Rob, here, can’t handle the hard stuff.”

Sarah set the bottle down. “Well, I have to say, it’s been awhile since I’ve had this,” she said. She gave them her most disarming smile. “Hope I can keep up with you.” She ignored Chuy’s choked cough. Sarah lifted her drink. “Salud,” she said and downed the contents then set the glass back down, firmly. She looked at the two young men. Waiting.

Surprised, Ricky and Bushy looked at each other then they, too, finished their drinks in one gulp. Sarah promptly refilled all three glasses and raised hers. “To… fresh starts,” she said, half-heartedly and again slammed down her drink. This time, her drinking opponents followed suit and she filled the glasses a third time.

“Your turn for the toast, Ricky,” she said, holding her glass aloft.

Ricky, his face now pale, hesitated. He lifted his drink, then set it back down, wiping the sweat from his upper lip.

Sarah leaned forward to peer at him, a frown creasing her brow.

“You feeling okay?” she asked. “You look a little funny.” In fact, she thought both of them were looking a little paler and they were definitely perspiring.

“Hey,” she said, setting her glass down. “You guys hadn’t been drinking before this, had you?” She looked intently at the two. “’Cause, if so, I think you might be in some trouble.”

Just then, Ricky bent over and proceeded to heave prodigiously, Sarah barely getting out of the way. Bushy’s laughter at his friend’s plight was cut short by his own retching, so sudden Rob was caught by surprise, to the detriment of his boots. Rob jumped up, swearing, knocking his chair over backward.

Sarah, her hand resting on the tequila bottle, regarded her handiwork with small satisfaction. Her anger wanted to see pain inflicted, preferably with wooden bats or bare hands.

But, this would do.

It also helped to know that there _would_ be pain in the morning. She just wouldn’t be there to witness it.

Chuy joined Sarah next to the table. They looked at her two victims, both now lying on their sides on the floor, moaning. There was an exclamation and they looked up to see the waitress standing some feet away, holding a tray of food, shaking her head.

Sarah and Chuy looked at each other. “I guess we should clean up our mess,” he said. He turned to Rob, who had pulled some napkins from another table and was trying to wipe off his boots.

“Rob, is it?” Chuy’s voice rumbled over the moans of the two on the floor and the young man looked up, quickly. He visibly paled, his freckles standing out even more against his skin, then nodded.

“Whose car did you kids drive here?”

“Ricky’s,” he squeaked out.

“You sober enough to drive it back to your house?”

Rob, realizing the feared retribution wasn’t coming, relaxed a little and nodded.

“Sure. But, what about…” his eyes flicked to his friends, still on the floor.

“We’ll call a cab,” Chuy said, then walked over to the waitress. After a short discussion, they both went to the bar and spoke to the bartender.

Sarah squatted down next to the young men, making sure they were still conscious and breathing. Straightening up, she had to steady herself by leaning against the table. Rob had gone back to trying to clean his boots.

“I think it would be best if you fished the keys out of Rick’s pockets,” she said to Rob and he looked up at her. “If I did it, someone could get the wrong idea.”

Rob blinked at her, then smirked. As he stepped over to kneel next to Rick, he muttered, “He should be so lucky.”

Sarah stared at him, first in astonishment, then with amusement. Rob straightened up, keys in hand, and found her looking at him. He blushed, realizing she’d heard him, but he didn’t turn away. Sarah laughed a little, shaking her head.

Chuy walked up, glancing at the two of them and then at the two on the floor.

“Cab’s on its way.” He looked at Rob. “You help me get these two in when it shows up?’

Rob nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said and stopped. Chuy’s eyebrows raised in surprise. The young man ducked his head, but then straightened up and met Chuy’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, quietly, “for what Rick said. And for what happened at the gas station. We were way out of line.”

Chuy continued to look at Rob as if judging the young man’s sincerity. He nodded once, then his gaze shifted to the cab driver who had come in and walked up to the bar. The bartender pointed to Chuy who raised his arm to gesture the both of them over. Chuy turned to Rob and slapped his arm then they both bent over to lift Rick to his feet.

   Sarah went back to sit at the booth she and Chuy had occupied. Most of the plates had been cleared and the bill lay in their place. She set down enough cash to cover it plus a substantial tip. She sipped water as she watched Chuy and Rob haul Rick to the door while the bartender and the cabbie got Bushy.

Sarah was feeling a little queasy herself and by the time Chuy got back she was having some regrets over her choice of retribution. She watched as her friend stopped by the other table to right the chair Rob had knocked over. He retrieved the tequila and brought it with him to the booth. Setting the bottle down as he leaned against the table, he looked at her, his expression unreadable.

“You okay?”

Sarah smiled wanly and nodded.

“You sure?” he asked. “Because those boys weren’t the only ones who’d had been drinking earlier. And,” he nodded at the bottle, “this stuff is shit. I’m surprised you were able to gag it down.”

Sarah’s stomach twitched at his choice of words.

“That’s why I had Blonde try to come up with a toast. I was hoping the booze would catch up with them before I had to down another shot. ‘Cause,” she said, taking a deep breath, “there would have been puke.”

“There was,” he said, his eyes crinkled a little in mirth.

“Yeah, but not mine. That’s what counts.”

“Interesting way to deal with an insult.”

Sarah nodded. “It was either that or challenge them to a duel. But, I forgot my gun.”

“So, shot glasses at twenty paces.” Chuy’s smile was minute.

“Yeah, but I’m regretting my choice of weapons,” she said, trying to keep the mood light. She sipped more water though she feared it was too little, too late.

Chuy was silent, looking at her. Sarah tried to look back, but her eyes were having trouble focusing.

“You know, I can fight my own battles,” his gravelly voice was quiet and she thought she heard a bit of reproach.

“God, Chuy, I know that.” Sarah’s eyes focused a little. “It’s just…” she stopped, trying to drag the words out of her befuddled brain. “Hearing that _hijueputa_ call you…” she stopped again. Even if she’d been sober she knew she would have had trouble trying to describe how she’d felt, seeing her friend in that kind of pain. She shook her head, both to try to clear it and at the inadequacy of her vocabulary.

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking at Chuy. “I can’t seem to find words big and painful enough to tell you how I felt, seeing you hurt.” She said, softly, “And that look in your eyes scared me. I thought you might kill that kid.” He looked down at the table. Sarah went on in the same soft voice. “Then to watch you have to _fight_ that, push it down, that made me want to inflict pain. Lots and lots of pain.”

Sarah became aware of the background noise – the sounds of conversations, people coming and going, laughter –  but it seemed to her as if she and her friend were in a separate place, the silence between them having expanded to insulate them from the rest of the room. When Chuy raised his head to look at her again, he was smiling, but it was a small, sad smile.

“I thought I was past those feelings,” his voice a low rumble. “I guess it caught me by surprise.” He reached one hand across the table and grasped hers. “You’re a good friend, Sarah,” his eyes searching out hers.

“Well, not really,” she said after a moment, clearing her throat. “I just didn’t want to have to explain to Maria why you were in jail and missing her granddaughter’s wedding.”

Chuy laughed, solemn moment effectively destroyed. The sound of plastic wheels squeaking on the floor caused them both to look for the source. The junior bartender was mopping up the vomit and Sarah felt guilty for causing someone else extra work.   

“I think we’ve caused enough trouble here,” she said. “I guess we should get going.” She slipped out of the booth and stood up, apparently a little too quickly. The room spun for a moment and her stomach threatened to void its contents. Chuy steadied her, frowning.

“You gonna be sick?” he asked, while she took several steadying breaths.

“No…maybe,” she waffled.

Chuy straightened up, a stern expression on his face. “You better not puke in my car,” he said, and she knew he wasn’t joking. Chuy was normally particular about his cars. This one, a gift for Maria, was even more precious. Sarah understood his concern.

“We can call another cab,” she said. “They’re used to puke.”

“There isn’t one. We’d have to wait and that could take awhile.”

“Then, I’ll let you know if you need to pull over.”

“What if there’s no time?”

Sarah looked at him. “So, what do you suggest?”

 

 

“You’d better not tell anyone about this, Chuy, or, so help me…”

“Not a soul, amiga. I swear.”

Sarah kept her eyes focused as best she could on the uneven ground of the shoulder, wanting to avoid tripping over anything. The headlights from the Chevy gave her some light, but the shadows made things a little tricky, and the blinking emergency lights caused the shadows to shift. Chuy was driving the Chevy slowly along side of her, tires crunching slowly over the gravel, the car acting as a barrier between her and any traffic.

In truth, though, there was little of that. It was a pleasant night, the air soft and cool against her face. Sarah was actually enjoying the walk and her stomach hadn’t made any threatening moves for some minutes. But, of course, she was obliged to continue to act pissed. She enjoyed giving Chuy a hard time. He always gave back in kind.

“So, what were you and, what’s his name, that boy, Rob? What were you talking about when I came back?” he asked, voice raised to be heard as a car passed.

Sarah grinned, knowing he couldn’t see her expression.

“Why?”

“He looked a little flustered. Blushing, maybe.”

Sarah laughed. “Yeah, well, I’m not entirely sure, but I think he was flirting with me. ‘Course, maybe it was the alcohol.”

The car stopped, so Sarah did, too, and she peered at Chuy. From the way he was sitting, she knew he was looking at her, but at this distance it was too dark to make out his face.

“What?” she asked.

“Disgusting,” he said. “A woman your age.”

“Hah! You’re just jealous.” She started walking again. The car pulled up along side.

“I think you’re doing better, amiga. You want to ride the rest of the way?”

She shook her head. “Nah. I’m good. It’s not that much further.” In fact, she could see the motel sign not a half mile away. “You go on ahead, if you want.”

“Better I keep between you and the road.”

Sarah shrugged. She walked a ways in silence, keeping her eyes on the path, trying to keep her footing.

“How come you don’t take up with the young guys who hit on you?”

“Shit, Chuy,” she said, stumbling a little. “Freckles? He’s barely more than a baby. That _would_ be disgusting.”

“Not _him_ ,” Chuy said, bemused. “I meant guys like Tom, the one who owns the restaurant. I know he’s asked you out.”

“I’ve got someone right now, as you’ve deduced.”

“Well, yeah, but what about _before_ him?”

Sarah sighed. “We’ve been over this before, Chuy.” She stopped and the car stopped as well. She walked up to the open window, bent over and leaned an arm on the door. “Why do you fuss so over my love life, amigo?”

“I worry about you.” The bantering tone was gone. “I don’t want you to get old alone.”

She waited as another car went past before responding. “I’m already old,” she said, grinning. “Besides, I’ve got you and Maria; your kids seem to like me and the grandkids adore me. I’m Tia Blanca, remember?”

“Not the same, Sarah.”

She paused, briefly. “Okay. Fair enough. But why keep pushing me toward younger men?”

“The older ones, divorced or widowed, they’ve got too much baggage. Maybe kids, too. The ones that never married, they’ve got issues. Plus, they’re used to being alone.”

Sarah was quiet. His assessment of her preferred dating pool was fairly accurate. However, she wasn’t so sure his description of the never-married didn’t apply to her, as well.

Looking at Chuy from the window, Sarah could make out his face, the dashboard lights making his features a contrast of light and shadow like a minimalist portrait.

“Thanks, amigo, but I think, rather than pursue youth and enthusiasm, I’ll hold out for maturity,” she paused, grinning, “and ssskillll,” she said.

When Chuy didn’t respond, Sarah feared she’d pushed a little too far – treating his heartfelt concerns in such a careless manner. Then, she heard his low chuckle, saw his shoulders shaking.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “I give.”

Grinning, she stepped back from the car and it started to inch forward.

“I hope your new guy knows what he’s gotten himself into.” Chuy spoke loudly, to be heard as another car passed.

Still grinning, Sarah resumed her walk to the motel.

 

 

Chuy pulled the car into the motel parking lot and killed the engine. Sarah opened the passenger door, grabbed her pack and slammed the door. Turning, she wobbled a bit and found Chuy suddenly next to her, a steadying hand on her arm.

“Okay?” he asked, peering at her.

She took a deep breath, then laughed a little. “Yeah, actually.” She looked at him. “The walk must have settled my stomach. I think the danger is past,” she said, then promptly bent over and proceeded to upchuck.


	3. Chapter 3

Chuy’s knock on the door the next morning was both loud and muffled, Sarah’s head resonating as if it was a drum stuffed with cotton. Opening the door, she blinked, trying to bring her friend’s face into focus. It was 5am, the departure time they’d agreed on the night before. It had seemed like a good plan, then. Of course, that was before the tequila shots. And the puking.

“You look like hell,” Chuy’s voice and face seemed fuzzy to her. She stared at him a moment, her brain working in extra slomo.

“Shut up,” she said, finally. Then, squinting, she said, “What?” to his surprised expression.

“I’ve heard you swear fluently in four different languages and the best you can come up with is ‘shut up’?”

Another long pause. “Yes.”

Chuy clicked his tongue. “You packed?” he asked.

“I think so.” She stepped back from the door. “Maybe you should check. See if I missed anything.”

Coming into the room, he handed her a bottle. “Here. It’s the best thing the vending machine had. It’s a sports drink. Should re-hydrate you.”

Sarah stood there, clutching the bottle while Chuy checked the room and bathroom for missed items. Apparently satisfied, he went to the bed where her bags lay.

“The big one’s still unzipped,” he said. “Something else you need from it?”

“No. I was having trouble with the zipper,” she said. “It wouldn’t close.”

There was a pause as Chuy examined the bag.

“You’ve got one of the pillows in here.”

“Ah.”

He remedied the problem and picked up the bags. “ _Vámanos_ ,” he said, herding her outside.

While Chuy loaded her luggage, Sarah eased into the passenger side. She found a couple of plastic bags on the seat and held them up to him as he got in, questioning mutely.

“Those little bags for the ice buckets,” he said as he buckled in. “Just in case. But, please, amiga, don’t puke in Maria’s car.”

Sarah nodded. “I’ll try, Chuy.”

“If you feel sick…” he began.

“I’ll throw myself from the car,” she said in all seriousness.

Chuy studied her, then nodded. Starting the engine, he said, “Thanks.”

 

 

Sarah slept. She’d wrapped her flannel shirt around her pack to use it as a pillow for her head against the door frame. Chuy woke her at a gas station somewhere in Oklahoma, asking if she needed the restroom. She declined. She slept some more, waking occasionally to take sips from her drink. At the next stop, she used the restroom and rinsed her face as well, the cold water caused her to gasp and helped to clear her head. Back at the car, feeling guilty, she offered to drive.

Chuy looked at her appraisingly.

“Thanks, amiga. But you still look iffy,” he said. His mouth twitched. “If you had to bail, I’d be screwed.”

At one point, Sarah woke, hearing Chuy’s voice. Thinking he was talking to her, she blinked sleepily at him, then realized he was singing, his gravelly voice soft and melodic. She been aware that he’d been playing the music his grandkids had downloaded for him, but most of it was the kind teenaged Chicanos liked. Curious as to what song would move him to sing along, she listened, concentrating to hear the music because he had the volume set low. After a moment, she asked, “Is that Linda Rondstadt?”

Chuy, glancing quickly at her, reached for the volume control.

“Don’t turn it down,” she said.

“Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, it’s okay,” she said, still sleepy. “Is it? Linda?”

“Yes, it’s from that album she did in Spanish. Maria must have had the kids download it.”

Sarah listened a little longer. “What’s it called?”

“‘El Sol Que Tú Eres’.”

“Sounds sad,” she said. “But nice. You’ll have to tell me what it means.” She closed her eyes again. “Your singing’s good, too,” she said as she drifted back to sleep. “It’s like being serenaded.”

When they stopped outside Amarillo, TX for muscle stretching, gas and a bite, Sarah insisted that she was fit enough to take over driving and Chuy relented. Back on the road, they finalized their plans.

“So, we’ll stay near Santa Rosa, New Mexico tonight?” she asked, glancing a Chuy, who was scrutinizing the navigator on his tablet. “That’s, what, one, two hours from Albuquerque?” He nodded. “That’ll work.” She looked back out at the highway. “The cemetery’s on the way. If we leave by 7am tomorrow morning, we should be there in plenty of time.”

Chuy grunted in assent and set about finding a motel, booking two rooms and emailing everyone who needed to know about the change in plans. That done, he sat back and closed his eyes, relaxing. He looked tired.

“Sorry you had to do so much driving.”

“‘S’ okay,” he said, rubbing his closed eyes. “I guess I’m not used to these long trips anymore. Must be getting old.”

“Yeah. You and me, both,” she responded. “I remember, in college, driving a carload of us all night to visit friends, got there, partied, crashed for a few hours and then drove back.” She shook her head. “Thinking back, I’m sure we were still drunk. It’s a freaking miracle we didn’t kill someone.”

 He chuckled. “The good old days,” he said. “Thank God they’re gone.”

“So, you wouldn’t want to go back, be young again?”

“ _Shit_ , no,” he said. “I’m happy now. And, I hope, smarter.” Sarah glanced over as he opened an eye to look at her. “You?”

“No, I’m with you. All that stupidity, anxiety and insecurity? I’m glad that’s past,” she said. “Now I’m wise, fearless and know _exactly_ what I’m doing.” Chuy’s laugh caused her to pause. “Yep,” she continued, “youth is overrated.”

“Well, not _all_ of it,” he said, and she saw him massaging one shoulder. “But, I guess aches and pains are a small price to pay for wisdom.”

The rest of the drive was spent in small talk and long, companionable silences. But, despite the fact that Sarah had slept most of the day, by the time they rolled into the motel parking lot she felt as if she had driven for the whole twelve hours herself. Chuy apparently was feeing the miles, as well; they both got out of the car, she holding a hand to the small of her back, he massaging his shoulder. They paused, regarding each other, then shook their heads.

The motel, while not quite a relic, was definitely from an earlier era. It was a one storey building, the room décor was various shades of green, the wood a light colored pine and their adjacent rooms even had a communicating door. But, it was clean and far enough from the highway to be quiet.

The nearby coffee shop had a remarkably boring menu and amazingly bland food. Sarah felt somewhat sorry for her friend, but, if he was as tired as she, he probably didn’t notice. Back at the motel, standing in front of their respective rooms, they re-confirmed the departure time and agreed to skip breakfast at the restaurant in favor of some protein bars and bottled coffee Chuy had picked up at the last gas station.

Inside her room, Sarah felt as if all the miles of the day’s trip were dragging at her eyelids. She pulled her clothes off and her sleep shirt on and had enough forethought to put a cup of water on the nightstand. Then, she fell into bed and into a deep sleep.

 

 

She was driving, which seemed right. She knew it was cold outside, but inside the car it was warm. She felt good; she always did on road trips. Her Dreamself didn’t know where they were going, but it didn’t matter.

They? Yes - someone was sitting on the passenger side. _He_ was sitting on the passenger side. That was right, too. They had discussed taking a trip, just getting up and leaving. No plans, telling no one. So, this must be it, then. The much talked about trip.

She smiled and looked over at him. He would have been looking back at her, too, except his eyes were rolled up into his head. There were gobs of brains and blood and bits of bone splattered all over that side of the car – ceiling, door panels and windows – and the hole that she knew was in the top of his head was dripping blood on the cream and red upholstery. Still smiling, she turned her attention back to the road.

  Everything was good.

Then she felt a cold hand on her arm and she looked back at him and he was leaning toward her and his eyes were still rolled up and his slack mouth was moving and he was saying something he was saying “Why didn’t you stop me?” and she was screaming…

 

 

Sarah sat bolt upright in bed, her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest. She swung her legs over the side and tried to will her pulse and breathing to slow. This time, they both refused to co-operate and she started to panic. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to relax, but that only brought back the image of Nick’s face, eyes rolled back in his head, asking her “Why?”

Her eyes flew open and rage flared up in her, fueling the adrenalin and panic. She grabbed the nearest thing to hand, the cup of water on the nightstand, and threw it across the room, yelling, “It wasn’t my fault, Goddammit! Leave me the fuck alone!”

The cup struck the opposite wall, plastic and water striking with a decidedly unsatisfying splat. As she looked frantically around for something more substantial to throw, she became aware of a voice, Chuy’s, and pounding coming from the communicating door. She realized he’d been calling her name for a minute or so; he was sounding a little panicked.

“Shit,” she muttered, forcing deep breaths. She reached over and turned on the wall lamp.

More pounding. “Sarah, open the door.” A pause. “Sarah?”

“It’s okay, Chuy,” she called out. She’d hoped to sound calm, but her voice was ragged. “Just a bad dream.”

Another, shorter, pause. “Sarah, open the door.” The knob rattled.

“It’s okay,” she said again, as if repetition would make it so.

“Sarah. Open. The. Door. _Now_.”

Her hands shook as she unlocked the deadbolt then turned the knob. She stepped back to let Chuy come in.

He stood in the doorway and took a quick look around. He was barefoot, wearing sweat pants and a sleeveless undershirt, his small gold cross glittering at the base of his throat in time with his breathing. The old knife scar on his left arm was fully visible, running from just below his elbow to his shoulder – a ragged stain slightly darker than his light brown skin. But what struck Sarah most was that his hair was untied and now hung down over his shoulders. She blinked at him, realizing that, in the seven years she’d known him, she’d never seen his hair loose.

She shook her head once, trying to clear her thoughts. “Damn, Chuy, you didn’t need to use your ‘Dad’ voice,” she quipped, but she still sounded shaky and ragged.

Chuy moved further into the room and she stepped back to let him past. He turned to her, frown lines between his eyebrows.

“You screamed.”

Sarah bowed her head and ran a shaking hand through her hair. “Did I?” She looked back up at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”

He looked around the room again, this time his eyes lighting on the water-splattered wall and the plastic cup crumpled on the floor. “I heard you yelling, too.” His gaze came back to her. “I didn’t know it was this bad,” he said, his eyes holding hers.

Sarah stared at him, trying to come up with some quick, smart-assed response; turn the whole thing into a humorous incident. But, her mind was blank. No jokes. No quips. Nothing. As the silence stretched on, the frown lines on her friend’s face grew deeper.

“Sarah?” His gravelly voice was soft.

“Oh, God, Chuy,” her voice breaking, torn between anger and fear. “The nightmares. The screaming. Just…like Nick,” the last two words almost a whisper. Staring at him, she saw a flash of what looked like pain cross his features and he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. She continued to stand stiffly for all of five seconds, then relaxed, her head resting on his shoulder.

They were both quiet, Sarah finding the storm of thoughts and emotions stilling and she tried, again, to draw deep, slow breaths. She was suddenly reminded of the time when she was ten and having some pre-adolescent crises. Her brother, Mike, all of two years her senior, had held her like this, not saying anything, just being there for her.

But Chuy wasn’t her brother. And she wasn’t ten. She became aware, as he held her in his arms, of his warmth and scent and strength and his chest as it rose and fell. Her skin tingled where his bare arms touched her. She realized at some point she had put her arms around him, pulling the two of them closer and she was sliding one hand down to the small of his back. She stopped, confused.

Just then, Chuy’s voice, a low rumble in her ear, asked, “Better now, _mija_?”

_Mija_? That word effected her confusion like a bucket of cold water. How many times had she heard him say that to one of his granddaughters as he patted her on the head? She turned to press her forehead lightly against his shoulder, her soft, self-mocking laugh barely audible. She pulled away from him, smiling ruefully.

“I’m a little old to be ‘mija’ to you,” she said as she walked to the nightstand and pulled out a couple of tissues. She wiped her eyes and nose and turned back to him. “Thanks, Chuy. I _am_ better, now.”

He stood, still frowning, his eyes searching hers, as though trying to verify her statement. She suddenly realized she was wearing that thin nightshirt and how little it really covered her. She flushed and hoped the lighting in the room was poor enough he wouldn’t notice her embarrassment. Wiping her eyes with a fresh tissue, she mustered up a steady voice. “Seriously, Chuy, I’m good.” As much as she had wanted, just moments ago, for him to stay with her, she was now anxious for him to leave.

He nodded, apparently satisfied she was, indeed, okay and then walked toward his room, patting her arm as he went past. Turning to close the door on his side, he said, “Goodnight, amiga.”

Sarah nodded, silent, fearing her voice would betray her. She closed her door as well, leaning her forehead against it, hearing the lock on the other side click into place. Locking hers, she stood motionless a moment. Then, she slowly, softly beat her head, once, twice, three times on the door, whispering, “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” in time with each touch.

She walked back to the bed and sat down. Looking at the clock, she realized she’d slept an hour, at most, and it was many more hours until it would be time to hit the road. Sighing, she lay down on her back and stared at the ceiling, her thoughts jumping from images to feelings and back. Blood and brain matter running down the car windows; the warmth of Chuy’s arms around her; Nick’s rolled up eyes; Chuy’s hair loose around his shoulders; the panic and fear and anger of the nightmare; the tingle of Chuy’s skin against hers.

Maria and Chuy sitting at their dinner table, laughing at some joke she’d made the last time she was at their home for a meal.

Harold, stroking the side of her face, his mouth quirked in that little smile she couldn’t resist.

Sarah reached up and turned off the light. “It’s gonna be a long night,” she told the dark room.

 

 

 

Sarah was finishing her protein bar as she pulled the curtain back and looked out the motel window, trying to assess the weather: Sweater? Jacket? Hair tied back against the wind? Etc. What she saw in the pre-dawn light was Chuy, sitting on the hood of the Chevy. He’d obviously already gone for his daily run, wearing the sweat pants and undershirt he’d been wearing the night before. She watched him pull on a t-shirt and take a sip from the bottle he had sitting next to him.

After a moment’s hesitation, she fished her sweat shirt and pants from one of her bags and pulled them on. She slipped on a pair of shoes then went outside, closing the door quietly.

Sarah loved this time of day. In The City, of course, all you could see of the sunrise was the change in the way the light reflected off the tops of the buildings. Even there, though, the air had a freshness that was missing once the sun was fully up.

Out here you could see all the way to the horizon and the whole of the sky was visible. You could watch the colors of the earth and sky shift in hue and become more distinct as the sun rose. Even with the birds beginning their songs, there was a stillness that was almost enveloping. This morning, as dawn approached, a light breeze was stirring, gently brushing her face.

Still standing in front of the door, she closed her eyes, letting the morning soak in. She opened them again and saw Chuy looking her way. She smiled and, encouraged by his nod, walked over to join him, the gravel crunching under her shoes.

“Morning,” she said softly, unwilling to compete with the birdsong. She nodded her head toward the spot next to him, tugging on her sweats. “No rivets,” she said. Chuy shifted over slightly, silent invitation. She climbed up and settled next to him on the hood. They sat quietly, both looking out over the desert as it slowly revealed more of itself in the brightening light.

Sarah glanced at Chuy. From where she sat, he was in full profile, once again reminding her of those old carvings. He took another sip of water. Still looking out at the desert he asked, “You okay this morning, amiga?”

“Yeah,” she said softly.

He shifted a little, glancing sideways at her, then resumed watching the desert. Guessing he wanted to say something, and, since she still wasn’t sure what she needed to say by way of an apology, she waited for him to speak first.

“You’re a good friend, Sarah,” he said, quietly. “And I know you’re hurting.”

Sarah frowned, not sure where this was going.

“Last night, I felt…useless.” He paused. “I didn’t mean for the hug to be more than comfort for a friend.”

Sarah held her breath, disbelieving.

“I’m sorry if I gave you the idea…” he stopped, looking down at the bottle as he rolled it between his palms. Then, softly, “I’m sorry.”

Sarah sat, stunned, for several heartbeats, staring at her friend. She had hoped her near-grope had gone unnoticed and she could pretend it never happened. Obviously, she was wrong on both counts. She looked down at the ground in front of the car and laughed softly, shaking her head. Looking up again, she found Chuy regarding her with a puzzled expression.

“I’d been trying to come up with an excuse for my behavior last night,” she said “and here _you_ are, apologizing to _me_.” He started to say something, stopping when she held up her hand. “Please Chuy, let me get through this.” She looked back out at the desert, hoping that not looking at him would help. “You did nothing but show me concern and compassion,” she said, her voice threatening to break. She cleared her throat, irritated with her lack of control. And, not just at that moment. “I will admit that, when we first met, I was …interested. But, that was before I knew you were married.” She paused, aware that he was watching her intently. Still not looking at him, she forged on. “Then you and Maria included me in your family.” Softly, she said, “You’ve all been so kind.” She blinked and a tear ran down one cheek. “I value our friendship more than I can express.” She looked down at her hands, then back at her friend. “And I would  never intentionally do anything that would jeopardize that.”

 They looked at each other for several moments. Sarah fought the compulsion to turn away, embarrassed by her confession and her behavior, but determined to balls it out. Chuy’s expression was unreadable. The silence between them started to strain her nerves as she waited for his reaction. Finally, she said, shakily, “Chuy. For Christ’s sake, _say_ something,” even though she feared what that might be.

He nodded, looking thoughtful. “I understand. You were scared, upset,” he said.

 Sarah realized she’d been clenching her hands. Slowly, she forced them to open. “So, we’re okay? Still friends?”

“Of course.” Then, his expression changed to deadpan. Looking back out at the desert, he said, “So, ‘interested’, huh?”

Sarah laughed, relieved. “Yeah, but that was years ago,” she said, recovering herself and thankful for the change in the conversation’s tone. “Now you’re too old,” she said, feigning regret. She saw a smile twitch at the corners of his mouth. They both looked out at the desert, each lost in their own thoughts.

Sarah would have been content to stay there, the sun just coming up, the light breeze stirring her hair, the birds chirping at each other and flitting between the low shrubs. But, time didn’t stop, the sun continued to rise and Chuy eased himself off the hood. He turned to look up at her, the slightest upward twist of the corner of his mouth forewarning her.

“Well, you ready to go… _mija_?”

“Oy.” She said, hanging her head. She looked back up at her friend with a wounded smile. “Chuy. If I promise to behave myself, would you promise not to call me that? Please?”

His smiled was warmly as he nodded. “Deal.”

Sarah eased herself off the hood. Standing up in front of him, she sighed. “Well, amigo, let’s get on with this.”

 

 

Sarah set a cloth shopping bag on the ground as she helped Chuy load the luggage. “What’s that?”

“Something I’ll want at the cemetery. Careful,” she said as he picked it up, “it’s got glass in it.”

Raising an eyebrow at her, he peered inside. Holding one of the handles firmly with one hand, he used the other to carefully lift the bottle out. The golden liquid inside showed up the black lettering that read ‘Tequila Añejo’.

“Ah. Your usual, isn’t it?”   

 “Yeah. Nick’s, too.” She explained. “He’s the one who taught me how to drink it.” She smiled a little. “I’ll have just one shot. I promise.”

 

 

The road that turned off from the highway to the cemetery was paved but covered with so many small rocks it sounded as if they were driving on gravel. The same small white stones comprised most of the landscape, making it seem as if bits of popcorn had been scattered in among the scrubby pines. Sarah had been noting these kinds of details during the hour plus trip, keeping her mind busy with incidentals. Now she could see, up ahead, what looked like a pavilion; no doubt used for services as well as ceremonies on Memorial and Veteran’s Day.

They were early for their meeting, so she wasn’t expecting Frank to have arrived yet. But, there was a car in the parking lot and as they got closer, she could make out someone in the shade of the pavilion, sitting on the low stone wall that formed a semi-circle off one end of the covered space.

Chuy glanced at Sarah. “That him?”

She shrugged. “It’s been so long…” she murmured.

Chuy parked next to the other car and they both got out.

“I’ll get the bag,” Chuy said.

Sarah glanced around, but there was no one else. She started walking, Chuy falling in behind her, and the man stood to face them.

He was moderate height, dark skinned and his short cropped curly hair was shot through with silver and grey. Sarah remembered Frank’s hair had been straightened, but that was then. So far, it could be her old friend, but his black suit and white clerical collar made her unsure. She studied him as she approached, looking for something familiar. Then, he grinned crookedly and she knew. Surprise brought a smile to her face.

“Frank, you bastard, you didn’t tell me,” she said as they hugged. He was still grinning when they separated.

“I do that. I like to see the expressions on old friends’ faces. Teaches them to not stay in touch.”

Sarah’s lips pursed in amusement, acknowledging the barb. She turned slightly, extending an arm toward Chuy. “Frank Mason, this is Jesús Ortega, a good friend.”

The two men shook hands, each repeating the other’s name. Chuy told Frank, “Please. Call me Chuy.”

“Ah, good,” Frank responded. “That will avoid confusion.”

Chuy blinked, momentarily puzzled, then chuckled.

“Sorry,” Frank grinned, “Religious humor.” He turned back to Sarah, his expression softening as he looked her over. “You look well,” he said. “Age becomes you.”

Sarah smiled awkwardly. She pointed with her chin at his collar. “I would have thought that thing would have precluded you from telling lies.”

 He smiled a little. “Compliments are exempt. But, really, you look good.”

“Thanks,” she said. “You seem remarkably comfortable in that collar. Episcopalian?”

Frank’s smile broadened. “You remembered. Yes. Surprised?”

“Stunned. I had no inkling you had religious leanings. Good to see all those drunken philosophical arguments lead to something purposeful.” Sarah’s grin disappeared suddenly, remembering other, later, drunken times. Shame and regret made her flush and she dropped her gaze. Her voice was rough. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know it’s too late to have any meaning.”   She looked up. “But I’m sorry for the way I handled, or _didn’t_ handle, things after Nick died.”

Frank frowned. “No one’s judging you, Sarah. You were young. You loved him. You watched him die.” Chuy, still standing at her side, shifted a little, as if in reaction to the bluntness of Frank’s statement. “How could you have been prepared for that, something so violent and sudden, at that age?” Frank’s frowned deepened. “Hell, at any age.”

Sarah wiped her eyes. “I could have at least gotten to the funeral,” her voice thick with suppressed tears.

Frank’s creased brow eased a little. “Well, you’re here now.” The frown lines eased even more. “Besides,” he said, “you didn’t miss much. The preacher did a terrible job. Not only did he not tell any funny stories, he wouldn’t let me tell any either.”

Despite herself, Sarah laughed. “That why you took to the collar yourself?” she teased.

Frank’s lopsided grin erased the years from his face. “Actually…” he left the rest unsaid.

There was a reflective silence between them for a moment, then Sarah stirred herself. “Well …” she said, and looked out over the burial plots.

“Yes,” Frank said, taking her cue. “Let me show you where he is.” He turned to Chuy. “There’s a few folding chairs against that post,” he gestured. “Make yourself comfortable.” Chuy nodded and handed Sarah the bag he’d brought from the car.

Sarah nodded her thanks as she took the bag from him. His hand on hers stopped her. He held her gaze for a moment and she could read the affection and support in his eyes. Then he stepped back and Sarah followed Frank into the rows of headstones and crosses.

 

 

After Frank left her, she stood looking down at the plaque marking Nick’s grave. Bronze. His name, date born, date died. Simple. She glanced back the way they’d come and saw Frank and Chuy already sitting under the pavilion. She wondered what they were talking about. She let her gaze wander over the expanse of the cemetery, noting how green and quiet it was and thinking this would be a good place to visit. Have a picnic, maybe.

Her attention came back to the marker and she took a deep breath. “Well,” she said aloud, “like the man said, I’m here now.” She sat unceremoniously on the grass, crossed legged, next to the plaque, making mental apologies to the person in the grave next to Nick’s. Resting the bag next to her, she reached inside and started removing each item. Along with the bottle of tequila, there was a bundle of paper that held a set of shot glasses and, unexpectedly tucked in next to them, the box of tissues from the car.

Chuy.

Smiling sadly, she set the bottle on the ground in front of her. She extracted one of the glasses from its bundle and set the tissues nearby. Chuy had also broken the seal and loosened the wooden topped stopper on the tequila – one less thing to hassle with.

She pried the stopper out and filled the glass, admiring the color – the clear gold of properly aged tequila. She took a moment and enjoyed the aroma and she remembered Nick explaining to her the differences between tequilas, its history, how it was made. How the better ones weren’t drunk with lemon and salt because they didn’t need them. 

   She raised the glass in salute and drank down the contents. Then, because it seemed appropriate, she filled the glass again, lifted it high over Nick’s grave marker and, unhurriedly, poured out the tequila. As the golden liquid spilled out of the glass, the morning sun caught the edge of the twisting stream and the sudden glint flashed into Sarah’s upturned eyes. The glass emptied but she still held it aloft, her gaze focused on an entirely different place and time.

Slowly, slowly, her arm came down as she still stared into the past. Her arm curled up against her chest, her hand still clutching the glass. Her other arm also folded across her chest as if she was in pain and, rocking back and forth, she finally sobbed, loudly, raggedly and without restraint. For a while there was nothing else in the world but the pain she’d kept buried for almost thirty years and that now felt as if it might consume her.

 

 

She became aware of someone kneeling next to her and then she felt arms wrap around her, pulling her into a close embrace. Chuy’s warmth and scent surrounded her and she buried her head into his shoulder. As she struggled to quiet her sobs she could hear his gravelly voice as he spoke softly into her hair, a mix of Spanish and English, words of comfort and solace. He continued to hold her after she’d quieted, the both of them kneeling on the ground. After some minutes had passed, Sarah said, her voice muffled by his shirt, “This is getting to be a habit with you.”

 His chest moved as he chuckled. He kissed the top of her head and leaned back to look at her.

“Better now?” he asked. His eyes were damp, but a smile played on his lips.

Sarah started to smile back at him, then realized she was in desperate need of the tissues. As she turned to search for the box, a dark hand appeared above her, holding several out for her. She took them thankfully and Frank squatted down next to the both of them. He looked at her with concern as she finished wiping her nose. She laughed a little, embarrassed, as she wiped her eyes and asked, “So, not looking so good, now?”

“With this job, I’m used to it,” he said, the concern easing from his face. He picked up the shot glass from where it had fallen on the grass. “There’s a building here, for mourners to use. We can take the chairs back, use the restrooms, sit and talk. You have time?” Sarah and Chuy nodded. “Well,” he continued, glancing from one to the other, “I don’t know about you two, but, my knees are _killing_ me.”

The three of them got up, all of them stifling grunts of effort and relief. Frank’s eyes lighted on the tequila bottle sitting on the ground.

“You aren’t leaving that here, are you?” he asked, handing Chuy the retrieved glass.

“Hell, no,” she replied, still wiping her eyes, as Chuy re-stoppered the bottle and put it back in its bag. “You don’t know what that costs back in New York. It may not make it home on the plane with me, but I won’t leave it here for the coyotes and squirrels.”

 

 

 

The room was sparse, white and unadorned. Painstakingly non-denominational. It was also stuffy, despite the opened door and windows. The chairs they’d brought back from the pavilion matched the ones lined up along one wall. They sat, Frank and Sarah a couple of feet apart and facing each other, Chuy a little distance behind her. Frank had removed his collar, idly working it through his fingers. Sarah had the tissue box on her lap.

“I’d come into the bedroom and found him – Nick – standing next to the bed, holding the pistol in his hand,” she began, her voice calm, tired, somewhat spent after her emotional purging out by the gravesite. “I thought he was just looking at it or getting ready to clean it.” As she spoke, Frank, Chuy and the characterless room faded away. She was back in that bedroom, their bedroom, that day twenty-nine years ago, as if it was a movie and she was watching the whole unspeakable thing play out, again.

She said something to Nick and he turned to face her. And she knew. She _knew_. The expression on his face told her. After all the nightmares, the screaming, the mood swings.

The panic.

The fear.

The demons had won.

She tried to take the gun from his him, an amazingly stupid thing to do. He managed to push her away without shooting her. They were both yelling the entire time. She made another move toward him when he backhanded her and the sunlight streaming through the window flashed off his ring as his arm swung at her. She staggered backward from the blow, hitting the wall, narrowly missing the dresser. She grabbed it to keep from falling, blinking to clear the tears of pain and rage. She looked at Nick in time to see him insert the barrel into his mouth and pull the trigger.

The noise and mess must have registered on some level – the report from the gun would have been like an explosion in that small space, blood splattered on the ceiling and walls, as well as bits of bone and brain matter. But, what she remembered, as if in sharp focus, was standing over him where he’d fallen back on the unmade bed and the blood from the wound spreading and soaking into the sheets.

And his eyes, now rolled back into his head.

 Eventually, she became aware of noises outside. Yelling. Pounding on the front door. Then a splintering noise she later realized must have been the front door being kicked in. The neighbor, what-his-name, the one who always complained about their parties, Joe, was there. She recognized his voice, yelling, as he came through the house. The yelling abruptly stopped. She thought she heard her name, once, twice. Hands on her shoulders turned her. Joe’s pinched and pasty face was near hers, asking something. Then he led her from the room.

Sitting at the kitchen table, she was aware of sirens, the sound of cars and trucks in the road, then voices. Someone placed a blanket across her shoulders. Stupid, she thought, it must be eighty degrees in the house. Then, someone put a cup of water in her hands, which made more sense and she sipped it, mechanically, still seeing Nick’s face in that horrible moment.

 

 

 

Sarah felt the touch of someone’s warm hand and she blinked and saw Frank leaning forward in his chair, his hand on hers. Confused, she wondered when Frank had shown up at the house. Then, she realized where and when she was. Smiling wanly, she patted Frank’s hand to tell him she was okay. As he sat back she drew a deep and ragged breath. She rubbed her eyes, aware he was assessing her.

“This is the first time you’ve talked about this.” A statement, not a question.

“Yes,” she said, looking at him. “I spent the next several weeks after Nick’s death doing my best to pickle my liver. I doubt I was able to string a coherent sentence together.”

Frank’s mouth twitched. “Yes. I know.”

Sarah flushed. “I’m sorry, Frank. If you stopped by during that time, I don’t remember.”

Frank waived it away. “I did, but don’t worry about it.” He looked at her, considering. “You’ve never had any problems, any nightmares?”

She shook her head. “Not until a few weeks ago.”

Frank nodded. “Chuy told me about the assault.”

“A client of mine had gotten into a fight,” she said. “When I used my phone to call for help, the other guy hit me.” She rubbed the side of her face. “Backhanded.”

“And then the dreams started.”

“After I stopped taking the pain meds.”

Frank, watching her for a moment, commented, “You know, that’s the same side that Nick hit you. Left quite a mark.”

“Did it?” Sarah responded, “I guess I didn’t notice back then. By the time I crawled out of the bottles it must have faded.” She shook her head in disgust. “I’m amazed I didn’t do some permanent damage.”

“We were worried,” Frank admitted. “We were glad when you went back to school.”

“Graduated,” Sarah confirmed. “Then I accepted the job that had me move the furthest away. Just picked up and left.”

“But, you did say goodbye,” Frank said, apparently puzzled by her tone.

“Yeah. I was at least that gracious.”

Frank smiled crookedly at her. “Don’t tell me you’ve been beating yourself up over that all this time.”

Sarah smiled back. “No. Only recently. I’m making up for lost time.”

“Well, stop. We’ve all moved on. So,” he said his manner becoming serious. “Your councilor, Carol, said you were okay with her and me sharing information.”

“Yes.” Sarah shifted her legs a little. “She said you dealt with…” her voice trailed off and Frank filled in for her.

“Trauma cases? Yes, though it’s usually with Vets. Fortunately, I don’t have much call for it in the civilian population around here.”

Sarah’s heartbeat picked up a little and her hands got clammy. “I thought…” she swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “I was told I didn’t have PTSD.”

Frank looked at her, small frown lines appearing between his eyes. “Strictly speaking, you don’t. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t having some of the same symptoms. And the treatment will be similar.” He paused. “Why? Is that important?”

Looking down, she picked at one corner of the tissue box. She said softly, “It’s just…that’s what Nick had.”

“Ah. Yes. Well, as I said, some of your symptoms are similar. But, there are important differences.”

Something in his voice made her look up sharply. Frank’s expression was a little sad.

“You know I considered Nick a friend,” he said and Sarah was chagrined that she’d not considered that others had been impacted by Nick’s death. Frank continued, “But, friend or no, he had a lot of issues before going to Cambodia.”

Sarah nodded, tight lipped. “His parents,” she said.

“Specifically, his father. I found out later he once beat Nick so badly he damned near died.”

Sarah grimaced. “I wasn’t aware,” she said. “He almost never talked about his family.”

“And that was the other thing about Nick,” Frank said, his expression grim. “He wouldn’t talk. He wouldn’t go to therapy.” He shifted forward. “But, _you_ ,” he said, “are going to go to _your_ therapy, correct?”

Sarah nodded. “Yes, sir. I promise.”

“Good,” he smiled, waiving his collar. “I have a witness, you know.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “I’ll see Carol as soon as I get back next week. After the wedding.”

“Oh, right,” Frank said, looking at Chuy. “You told me. Eldest granddaughter?” he confirmed. “Sounds like a good diversion.”

The two men talked awhile about weddings and children and other happier subjects. Sarah started to feel the knot in her stomach loosen. By the time they said their goodbyes, Chuy had invited Frank to the wedding or at least to the reception afterward and Frank promised to stop by.

Sarah settled into the passenger seat, relaxing and taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Chuy drove the Chevy out of the parking lot and back on to the road. She regarded her friend, thinking about everything that had happened since the assault.

“Thanks, Chuy,” she said. “I know I’ve been difficult on this trip. _And_ the last few weeks. More than usual, I mean,” she added.

He looked at her and his expression softened.

“No problem, amiga.”

They made the rest of the trip into Albuquerque in silence.

 

 

Sarah sat on the bed and gazed out the window of her hotel room. It was nice enough, done in rich, deep reds and browns and tans. Tasteful. Comfortable. Better, in fact, than any of the other rooms she’d had since they had left New York.

But, it was yet another impersonal room. She was tired, physically and mentally, and ready to go home.

After they’d checked in, Chuy asked her if she wanted to go to the airport with him to pick up Maria, Gabrielle and Rosa and have dinner. She begged off and he didn’t press her.

 “Apologize to them for me, please, Chuy,” she’d said. “I’ll visit with everyone tomorrow. Tonight, I need to rest.”

Sarah felt sorry for him. The trip had been hard on him as well and he still had to drop the Chevy off to get detailed, arrange for another car to drive to the airport, touch base with the rest of the family. But, there was nothing with which she could help. Best, she thought, to stay out of the way.

She glanced at the bedside clock. She was thinking of ordering room service, but it was still early enough she thought she’d better make the promised call to the therapist’s office. She was surprised when, after giving her name to the receptionist, she was put through directly to the councilor.

“I’d spoken with Frank, so I was expecting your call,” Carol said. “Your visit went well?”

“Yes,” Sarah then hesitated.

“I don’t need to get details right now,” Carol assured her. “Just wanting to touch base with you. I understand you talked about Nick’s death; the first time since it happened.”

“Yes.”

“Good. That’s a start.” There was a pause. “You know you’ll have to talk about it again. I’ll warn you now – it won’t be easy.”

Sarah sighed. “Okay. I’m assuming you’ll have lots of tissues handy,” she said.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Carol said, “I buy boxes of them by the truckload. I’ll have my assistant make sure I get a fresh delivery before your appointment.”

Sarah laughed.

 

 

Sarah met up with Chuy and Maria the next morning in front of the hotel. Sarah’s dress was silvery grey and flowed to just below her knees with enough strategic folds and drapes to cover the imperfections of her middle-aged frame. She’d purchased a cloth bag of a similar color from the gift shop in which to carry the tequila.

Chuy and Maria were dressed to complement each other. Chuy was in a well tailored black suit and shirt, his emerald green tie matching his wife’s form fitting knit dress, which she filled out nicely.

Maria was a little shorter than her husband, her dark hair, only recently showing some traces of silver, hanging silkily down her back. She greeted Sarah with a hug, asking how she was doing. There were comments all around about how sharp they all looked. Sarah, aware of Chuy’s nervousness and his covert glances at his watch, prompted Maria to talk about the plane trip. When the Chevy came around the corner and approached the hotel, Chuy relaxed. Maria saw the car as well, but didn’t realize what was up until it stopped in front of them and a young man in a dark suit got out. Maria, recognizing him, said his name like an exclamation, then stared, speechless. The young man, grinning broadly, handed Chuy the keys and discreetly stepped back.   

“Well, Maria,” Chuy said to his astonished wife. “Do you like it?”

“My God, Chuy,” Maria breathed, “Is that ours?”

Chuy, standing close to her, smiled and leaned forward. “Happy anniversary, _carina_.”

Maria, still not moving, asked, “How did you get it? When did you get it?”

“We drove it, Sarah and I,” Chuy said, “I found it last year and Carlos and I restored it.”

Tears welled up in Maria’s eyes and she looked in wonder at her husband. Sarah, too, had tears in her eyes and was glad she was witness to this. “It’s beautiful,” Maria whispered.

Sarah found Maria’s delight at her gift a salve for her own battered psyche and well worth the long drive to Albuquerque. But, there was still a wedding to attend. Chuy opened the door for Maria, helping her in and closing the door.

“This is my nephew, David,” Chuy said to Sarah, gesturing over the young man who had delivered the car. “He’ll get you to the wedding.”

Before Chuy could turn to leave, Sarah put a hand on his arm.

“Good job, amigo, picking the car for the anniversary gift,” Sarah smiled. “ _Muy firme_.”

Chuy smiled back. “Not bad, I guess, for a near-geezer.”

 

 

The ceremony was ornate and well rehearsed, as far as Sarah could tell. But, then, her knowledge of these things was limited, since she was usually outside with the other hired drivers. The only near hitch happened when Rosa, dressed in her little white flower-girl dress, spotted Sarah, who had made sure to be by the center aisle. Rosa stopped and waived at her, completely forgetting her twin jobs of staying with the ring-bearer and flower-strewing. Sarah quickly waived back and gestured Rosa to keep moving. Rosa nodded vigorously and ran to catch up with the ring-bearer, her purple and white flower halo perilously close to falling off her perpetually unruly mop of dark brown curls. There were soft laughs and murmurs from the wedding guests as the two children finished their walk to the front of the church.

The rest of the ceremony seemed unflawed. The Bride was beautiful as all brides are. The Groom was nervous as all grooms should be. The vows were made, the blessings bestowed and a kiss sealed the deal. After everyone had filed out, David, the young man who driven her to the wedding, was waiting to play chauffer again.

There were two other young men, also in dark suits, who rode with them. They were all pleasant and polite, the presence of a fifty-something woman no doubt affecting their conversation. So, when one of them inquired as to what she did for a living, she gave them the short answer, “limo driver”, primarily to see what the reaction would be.

“No shit?” one of them asked, prompting a glare from the other one.

“No shit,” she responded and then proceeded to tell them a series of limo stories, each bawdier than the last. By the time they’d arrived at the rented hall that held the reception, she had her small audience laughing and swearing, all polite reserve gone. One of them, Enrique, insisted on opening the door for her, helping her out, chauffer-like, and handed her the bag she’d kept in the car during the wedding. 

“Well, gentlemen, I want to thank you for an entertaining ride,” she said to them as they escorted her into the reception.

“No prob, Sarah,” David responded.

“Yeah,” Enrique chimed in. “You had some great stories.”

“No shit,” the third one said, apparently his favorite phrase. Sarah couldn’t remember his name. “I didn’t know being a chauffer could be so cool.”

Sarah smiled. “Yeah,” she said. “It is.”

 

 

Inside the hall it was, as Sarah expected, a wonderful confusion of people, music, laughter, food, drink and dancing. The buffet tables were crowded with a motley selection of foods, some of them in dishware from personal kitchens; apparently some of the attendees felt compelled to bring their own dishes to add to the ones from the caterers.

Sarah tracked down Chuy and Maria before the Bride and Groom made their appearance.

“A toast,” she said, producing the tequila and glasses from the bag she’d toted from the hotel. Handing a full shot glass to each of her friends, she lifted her own and said, “To Linda and Robert.” They clinked the glasses together. “And to you two:  Happy anniversary.”

As they stood, exchanging comments on the wedding and sipping their drinks, another man came up to Chuy. He nodded to Maria and Sarah, apologized and drew Chuy away to talk about the Chevy.

“Your car has been quite the hit,” Sarah observed, pleased once again for her small part in the surprise.

Maria smiled around her glass as she took a sip. “We were stopped twice on our way here by people asking about it. ‘What kind of engine does it have?’ ‘Who did the restoration?’ ‘Do you have pictures?’” Maria’s eyes were bright and Sarah suspected she was already feeling the alcohol. Maria rarely drank. “I can’t believe he was able to keep the secret for that long. Carlos, too.”

“You seem pretty taken with it. I thought newer cars were more your speed,” Sarah said, sipping her drink.

“Well, a ’57 Nomad played a _significant_ part for Chuy and me.” Maria leaned closer, her voice lower. “Before we were married, Chuy had one just like it. Same color and everything.” Her voice dropped a little more, her expression mischievous. “Our first child was conceived in it.”

“Really?” Sarah managed to hide her astonishment.

Maria nodded. “He sold it. The Chevy, I mean, to pay for our wedding.” Maria’s expression was wistful. “¡Dios! I loved that car.” As Chuy came back to them, Maria laid a hand on Sarah’s arm. “Oh. Don’t tell the kids.”

Sarah patted her hand. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Chuy, apparently hearing this last part, looked at them quizzically. They were saved from questions by the arrival of the Bridal party.

After the speeches and toasts, the three of them sat and watched the dancing, occasionally getting up to hit the buffet. Chuy and Maria got up to dance to most of the slower songs and were on the dance floor when a small brown haired missile in a white dress came streaking over to Sarah’s table.

“Tia! Tia!” Rosa’s high pitched voice screeched as Sarah hugged her. Gabrielle, Rosa’s mother, trailed behind her, looking harried.

“I’m sorry, Sarah,” Gabrielle said, somewhat out of breath. “She insisted on running over here as soon as she spotted you.”

“It’s fine, Gabrielle,” Sarah responded as she settled Rosa on her lap. “I was expecting her.” She looked up at the younger woman. “You go relax, eat. I’ll take care of Rosa.” She smiled at the child. “We have some catching up to do.”

Gabrielle nodded at Sarah gratefully and walked away as Sarah and Rosa engaged in a conversation full of exclamations. First, they discussed her part in the wedding.

“Did you see me, Tia Blanca!?”

“Of course! Did you see me!?”

“Tia! Yes, remember I waived!”

“Oh, yes, silly me!”

Her dress.

“Do you like my dress, Tia!?”

“It’s beautiful! You are the most beautiful flower girl ever!”

Airplanes.

“I wanted it to go up and down!”

“Like a roller coaster?”

“Yes!”

Chuy and Maria went back and forth between the table and the dance floor and visits with other guests, catching parts of the conversation, laughing and joining in. They’d gone off to visit with a couple when Frank showed up. Rosa was now snuggled sleepily on Sarah’s breast, eyes staying closed longer and longer between blinks.

“Well,” Frank said, standing next to her, setting down a plate of food. “That almost looks natural.”

Sarah smiled up at her old friend. “ _Almost_ ,” she said, reaching a hand out to him, “being the operative word.” They squeezed hands in lieu of a hug. Frank sat down and Rosa’s eyes popped open briefly. But, even the prospect of a new playmate couldn’t energize her.

“Worn out?”

Sarah laughed softly. “Me or her?”

Smiling, Frank nodded at Rosa. “You have a secret? I know some parents who’d pay good money for it,” he said as he started to eat.

“No secret. I kept encouraging her to show me how airplanes go.” She shifted her bundle slightly. “I just sat here as she ran around my chair.” Sarah closed her eyes. “Around and around and around…” Opening them again she said, looking at Frank’s plate of food, “I can highly recommend the red stuff from the blue bowl. I think one of the _abuelas_ brought it.”

Frank dug a fork into the indicated dish. “How are you doing?” he asked.

Sarah drew a deep breath. “Tired. And that was before this,” she indicated the now slumbering child. “I’ll be glad to get home.”

“When do you fly out?”

“Tomorrow. Shuttle’s picking me up at 7am,” she said, freeing one hand to rub her eyes. “I will not be staying here late.”

Gabrielle came back, looking a little better for the break. Rosa barely stirred as the transfer was made after which Frank and Sarah sat watching the milling crowd and dancers. Chuy and Maria returned and Chuy introduced Maria and Frank before they were pulled over to meet others. Sarah offered Frank a shot of the tequila.

“Thanks, but no,” he said. “I don’t drink any more.”

Sarah raised and eyebrow at him. “You are just full of surprises. How long?”

“Twenty-nine years.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

The silence between them was filled to bursting with unspoken sadness.

“Well,” Frank said, stirring. “I have my own duties to prepare for tomorrow, so I’d best be going.”

They both stood, Sarah a little stiffly. They hugged their goodbyes, each promising to stay in touch. Sarah watched Frank leave, her thoughts about nothing and everything. Her gaze wandered around the room and her eyes fell on an elderly white haired man sitting at a table across the dance floor. She had noticed him earlier and had even asked Chuy about him. Chuy had told her he was an old family friend whose wife had passed away five years ago.

“He gets invited to all of the family events in the hopes he’ll meet someone,” Chuy had said. “Looks as if that hasn’t worked, yet.”

Sarah picked up her bag and made her way around the dance floor, circling the dancing couples and making a brief stop at one of the bars.

The old guy’s sun darkened and wrinkle skin, gnarled hands and slightly stooped shoulders spoke of years of hard, physical work. But, he turned to her with clear eyes and a ready smile when she spoke to him and pointed to the empty chair next to him.

“May I?” she asked. She doubted she knew enough non-profane Spanish to be able to have a conversation with him, but she wasn’t looking for one. He nodded and turned back to watch the dancing couples as Sarah settled into the chair, placing the shot glasses she’d commandeered on the table. She pulled the tequila from the bag and reached over, touching the old man’s arm to get his attention.

“ _Señor_?” she asked, showing him the bottle.

“Ah,” he said, fishing a pair of glasses from his shirt pocket. Taking the bottle in both hands, he peered at the label.

“ _Bueno_ ,” he said, patting the bottle with a knobby hand.

“ _Sí_ ,” Sarah responded, smiling. “Yes. Very good.” She traded a glass for the bottle and filled it with tequila for him. She did the same for herself.

“ _Salud_ ,” she said and they both lifted their glasses and took a sip. As they sat watching the dancers, Sarah noticed her dinking partner tapped one foot in time to some of the music. If his wife was still alive, they probably would have been out on the dance floor, too. She smiled at the thought, picturing this old guy and his, she imagined, plump wife twirling around with the other dancers.

Her drinking partner nudged her, bringing her attention back to the floor. “ _Bueno_ ,” he said, a word he knew she understood. Using his shot glass full hand he pointed out to the dancers. Following his gesture, she saw the Bride and Groom, both sets of parents and several sets of grandparents, including Chuy and Maria. Her friends were holding each other close, swaying to the music. Sarah thought she recognized the tune, maybe one Chuy had on his thumb drive. Maria’s head was resting on Chuy’s chest, the two of them fitting together as if crafted from the same substance, like wooden puzzle pieces.

She smiled, and glanced at her companion. “ _Sí_. _Muy Bueno_.”

 

 

Leaving the remainder of the tequila with the old man, Sarah made her exit before the cake cutting.

“You sure?” Maria asked. She appeared totally relaxed and quite content, Chuy’s arms still wrapped around her. “The party’s hardly started.”

“I’m positive,” Sarah said. “The shuttle will be at the hotel at 7am tomorrow. And, frankly, I’m exhausted.”

Chuy and Maria let go of each other to exchange hugs with her. “Happy anniversary,” Sarah wished them, “and safe travels.”

She stopped in the doorway, looking back at her friends. They were holding each other again, swaying, completely oblivious to the fact that the music had changed tempo and age brackets.

 

 

Sarah was in front of the hotel at the appointed hour, looking for the airport shuttle. She’d slept fairly well, her dreams vague and only slightly unnerving. She knew better than to believe she was ‘cured’, though, and was just grateful for the respite.

She was looking at her watch when her phone rang. Expecting it to be the shuttle driver, she answered without noticing the number.

“Hello?”

“Amiga. You ready? I’m here.”

“Chuy?” She stepped forward a little and looked both directions on the street. A few yards away, previously hidden by the decorative shrubs, Chuy was leaning against the Chevy, cell phone to his ear. “What are you doing here?” she asked into the phone. “I have a shuttle coming.”

“Not any more,” his gravelly voice was amused. “I paid him off.”

Grinning and shaking her head, she dropped the phone in her shirt pocket and grabbed her bags. They met a few feet from the car and he helped her steer the stack toward the opened back.

“I’m surprised you’re up this early,” she said as he once again loaded her luggage into the Chevy.

“We didn’t stay much longer. Left right after the cake cutting.” He closed the back of the car and turned to her, smiling. “Maria’s still sleeping, though. I think she drank a little too much.”

“You two aren’t hitting the road today, are you?” Sarah asked, heading for the passenger door.

Settling into the driver’s seat, Chuy responded, “No. We’ll visit with family a bit. We’ll leave in a couple of days.”

“Any set date for when you’ll be home?”

“A week or so,” Chuy shrugged. “No real rush, I guess.” He paused as he maneuvered the Chevy into the heavier traffic headed toward the airport. “But, I’ll be getting anxious to get back to the shop.”

Sarah was quiet for a moment, looking out the window. “Yeah, I’m feeling like I need to get back to work, too.”

“Good.”

“And, before you ask, I’ve got an appointment with the therapist on Tuesday.”

Chuy nodded. “How are you doing, anyway?”

Sarah thought for a moment. “Better, I think.” She gave him a small smile. “I guess I’ll find out Tuesday.”

Sarah’s phone buzzed, alerting her of a new message and she dug it out of her shirt pocket. She smiled as she read and sent a response.

“Your boyfriend?” Chuy asked, glancing at her. “You have that look again,” he said in response to her raised eyebrow.

“Oh. Yes,” she said. “Seems we may meet up tonight.”

Chuy looked thoughtful. Frowning, he asked, “He know about Nick?”

“Well, sort of. He’s seen that photo of us in the living room.” She hesitated. “And, of course, there are the screaming nightmares.”

Chuy winced.

“I owe him an explanation,” Sarah said, then smiled mischievously. “But, it won’t be the first thing we do tonight.”

Chuy blinked. She’d caught him off guard again. He smiled, shaking his head.

They had been silent for a few miles when Sarah stirred herself.

“Chuy, there’s been something I’ve been wondering about.”

          “Yeah?”

          “That night you heard me scream,” she said, shifting slightly to look at her friend. “You called me ‘mija’. You’ve never called me that before.” She studied his profile, but there was no response. Looking down at her hands, she continued. “You know, when we first met, I was surprised that my attempts to flirt with you didn’t get any reaction.” She laughed a little, remembering. “I was being pretty obvious, too. I thought I had lost my touch.” She paused and gazed out the window at the traffic. “But I always wondered. Over the years, I watched other women flirt with you and you never flirted back. I figured maybe you were just oblivious. But that not it, is it?” She turned back to Chuy. “You knew all along. You knew how I felt. That night, when I...got...well, anyway, you knew.” She smiled at him even though he was _not_ looking at her. “That’s why you called me ‘mija’. You _knew_ how I’d react.” His slow and somewhat guilty smile told her she was right.

            “So, that was a bad thing?”

  “No. It was perfect.” She leaned back against the seat, still smiling. “Remind me, though, to never play poker with you.”

 

 

 

At the airport, Chuy pulled the Chevy in to a gap in the cars at the departure curb and they both got out. Once the luggage was stacked and the back of the car closed up, they stood looking at each other.

Sarah placed a hand on Chuy’s arm. “Thanks for everything,” she said. “It would have been a bitch doing this alone.”

He smiled. “I’m glad I could do something to help, amiga.”

A TSA agent started to walk over to them, frowning officiously, so Chuy got the luggage up on the curb and turned back to Sarah.

 As they hugged, he whispered, “ _Cuidate,_ amiga.”

She nodded, knowing there was more meaning behind that wish than just for the trip home.

“I will,” she promised. “You and Maria keep each other safe, too.”

They parted there at the curb and she watched him drive off. As she turned to go into the airport she felt an excitement in her stomach, much as she had that first day of the trip. She rolled up to the check-in counter and handed her ID and boarding pass to the clerk.

He smiled at her. “So, returning to New York?” he asked as he checked her bags.

“Yes,” she said, more relaxed than she had been in weeks. “Going home.”


End file.
